


The Purple Squirrel

by Galpal_007



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Eventual Smut, Gallavich, Jealous Ian Gallagher, Jealous Mickey Milkovich, M/M, POV Alternating, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Successful Mickey Milkovich, successful Ian Gallagher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2019-10-31 22:17:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17857991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galpal_007/pseuds/Galpal_007
Summary: Ian is an independent recruiter ("headhunter") who just landed a top-level search for one of Chicago’s most esteemed branding firms. Tasked to find an Executive Creative Director, the hunt is on and Mickey is the perfect candidate. Can Ian persuade Mickey to entertain a conversation, much less make the big move? Our boys are both successful, career-minded men in this one... and both are in for a run.





	1. The Handshake Seals the Contract

**Author's Note:**

> I pulled from my own experience in my career here. All feedback, kudos and comments appreciated!
> 
> THANK YOU to Erikutta for being my perfect beta.

Ian stood in front of the glass skyscraper and double-checked to make sure he had the right address. He rarely found himself nervous when meeting new clients, but this wasn’t just any client. He’d spent months cold-calling, trying to break into the account while competing within an extremely niche recruiting field, and a very tight market. His efforts had finally paid off. The CEO of Corbijn, Inc., one of the most prestigious and well-known branding and advertising firms, had personally called and requested they meet. Ian adjusted his shoulder strap and made his way into the building.

He stepped off of the elevator and onto the 21st floor, completely awestruck with the layout and design of the space. Everything about the aesthetics screamed style, class and money.

“Good morning, my name is Ian Gallagher and I have a 10:00 meeting with Mr. Corbijn,” Ian said when he approached the receptionist. 

“Good morning, Mr. Gallagher! I’ll let Mr. Corbijn know you’ve arrived,” she said with enthusiasm. Ian took a seat in the lobby and did his best to calm his breathing.

Had anyone told Ian eight years ago that this is where he’d end up today, he would have laughed. He’d grown up dirt poor in the South Side of Chicago and after graduating high school, didn’t have many options, much less any direction for himself. He couldn’t afford college, in spite of his good grades.

After waiting tables and wafting for a couple of years, he’d met Chase at a club in Boystown, a recruiter who worked for a large search firm in downtown Chicago that specialized in recruiting creative talent - Graphic Designers, Art Directors, Creative Directors and the like. Chase had been the perfect, no-feels fuck buddy and over time, had become a platonic, close friend.

One morning early into their relationship after going a few rounds, Chase grabbed a smoke and asked, “Have you ever considered being a Headhunter? You’d be great.” 

It wasn’t a career Ian had ever considered. “Really? What makes you think that?” Ian asked as he snagged the smoke out of Chase’s fingers to take a drag. 

Chase sneered, “You’re hot, people are naturally drawn to you, and you have intuition. Trust me, this job isn’t rocket science man. I could put a word in?” 

Ian did trust Chase. He made great money and it always intrigued him that companies paid recruiters large finders fees to find people. And it didn’t require a college education. Ian smiled and glanced over at Chase as he stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, before rolling back over to close the distance between them. "Yeah, OK...if you think so," he murmured, as he made his way down south to give Chase a warm 'thank you'.

 

And with the referral in the front door, he was in. During his four years with the firm, Ian out-billed other producers by a massive margin, learning the ropes and practice within the recruiting industry and the niche skill sets that dominated the creative front. He had made a name for himself with his ability to ‘sharp-shoot’ talent and he was trusted. He was the first call when clients needed help on new searches, as well as candidates seeking a recruiter when they were ready to make a move. The referrals he received from both sides were a continuous stream. He eventually decided to leave the firm and go out on his own as an independent headhunter. There was more money to be made, coupled with unbound freedom.

Firms sought him out to hunt niche talent, and the money he made on his placements was unlike anything he could’ve dreamed of. He did well and he was grateful, and he’d worked his ass off to get there. He was able to afford a decent-sized loft in the city and a lifestyle he deemed humble considering the income he brought home and the poverty he’d grown up in. His family was proud of him and that alone made him smile.

Ian was pulled from his thoughts when a door opened and Martin Corbijn walked up to greet him. “Mr. Gallagher, it’s a pleasure. Thank you for coming out on such short notice.” Ian stood to shake his hand and said, “Mr. Corbijn -” but was cut off, “please, call me Martin.” They made small talk as he was led to Martin’s office, which overlooked the Chicago skyline. Martin Corbijn was a legend in the branding world and Ian took it all in with pride.

The meeting went well, better than Ian could’ve imagined. Corbijn, Inc. was looking for an Executive Creative Director. Someone to pitch the winning hit on new business with big ideas - someone out-of-the-box, creative, edgy and unafraid. Corbijn, Inc. wanted to take their business to the next level and was seeking fresh talent outside of Chicago, which meant relocation efforts. Ian’s tenacity over the past year had caught their attention.

“I’ll send over my contract by end of day. I really can’t thank you enough for the opportunity, Martin,” Ian said as he shook the hand of the man who’d just given him the biggest run for his money. 

Martin smiled and countered, “We look forward to seeing what you can bring to the table.” Contingency recruiting was the dangling carrot that drove Ian to work hard. He didn’t get paid unless he delivered.

The hunt was on. It had been two weeks of purusing portfolios and talking to countless candidates - none of whom rocked his world. Ian wasn’t going to toss just anyone in front of Martin Corbijn out of the gate. It was Saturday night and after the long hours he'd been pulling, Ian debated heading to the Fairy Tail for a quick blow job to release his pent-up energy. He found himself unable to take the much-needed break so instead, pulled open the top drawer to his desk where he kept his stash of high-quality weed and rolled a joint.

As he smoked and clicked through the boring landscape of drab reels, his eyes scanned a profile that caught his attention. Mikhailo Milkovich. What the fuck kind of name was that, he quipped to himself. That alone intrigued him. Aside from the name, the guy’s work was good. Real fucking good. His work encompassed integrated samples for some of the world’s top brands - branding work that included logo and identity, video, web and print. It was slick, with a style that was as unique as the name of the artist himself. 

He appeared to live in San Jose, California and worked for a design firm he'd never heard of. Ian immediately went to Google and stalked the artist. From what he could tell, the guy was in his late 20s, young enough to be on the cusp of ‘fresh and edgy’, with the maturity to hold his own in pitch meetings with executives. Ian zoomed in on the face of one the hottest guys he’d ever seen. There were plenty of photos to feast on. Mikhailo was fucking gorgeous, not that Ian cared as much as the work in his book, but his ocean blue eyes and jet black hair told a story. Coupled with his angsty, creative vibe, it was just enough to make Ian giddy. He searched the guys portfolio for an email or phone number, then sat back in his chair and took a deep drag off the joint and smiled. Boom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All chapters titled after a Depeche Mode album, with a coinciding piece of lyrical genius to get us kicked off! Gallavich and DM own me.


	2. World in My Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let me take you on a trip.  
> Around the world and back.  
> And you won't have to move, you just sit still.  
> ...let me show you the world in my eyes.
> 
> Depeche Mode  
> Album: Violator  
> Track: World in My Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued THANKS to muh girl, Erikutta!

Mickey woke up Saturday morning with a bleeding hangover after pounding drinks to celebrate his agency’s big win the day before. He pulled up and leaned back against the headboard, fumbling for his pack of smokes on the nightstand, savoring the first drag. He’d spent months working on a re-brand for a well-known cosmetic line and the pitch went off without a hitch. 

The president of the firm, Karen, had been wary of a man leading their efforts, but Mickey’s strategy and confidence during their initial consult had the woman and her team of Chanel-wearing fashion drones wiping the sweat off their upper fake lips. They were putty in his hands within the first ten minutes of their initial meeting, practically begging his firm to sign the contract.

His approach had been simple. Find the future segments. The cosmetic line wasn’t the problem, it was the generation not wearing it. Mickey’s brain always sought the future, not just the ‘today’. It was inked in his blood from growing up in a shitty neighborhood, poor, scared and always looking ahead to something bigger. His work was always deemed ‘cutting-edge’, but in reality, he lived on the cutting edge and it just came out naturally in his creative thought process.

It wasn’t surprising to Mickey that the varying shades of red lipstick and darker eyeshadow palettes were their least profitable product lines, given the demographic who bought the drab, toned-down boring shades. The sub-brand needed energy. His storyboard included loud colors, hot graphics and melodic music that spoke to women in their early twenties, while still encompassing the same logo and tagline the company had been carrying for three decades. Red and hot pink lightning bolts, rain coats, stilettos, and ruby-red lips dominated his campaign. 

Mickey had worn dark denim and a pale blue concert t-shirt from who knows when, capped with a fitted, navy blazer for the meeting. His hair was cut short on the sides and left thick on top in a funky show-off coif. 

After presenting his work and turning the lights back on, Karen stayed silent as she took a sip of water. Mickey’s boss glanced around the room and then back to Mickey. Mickey pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, holding them tight for what seemed like an eternity as she shared notes with her team. She finally looked back to Mickey as she choked through her feedback, “Well, Mr. Milkovich, that was...I don’t think we expected...I mean, we didn’t expect such...I...what I’m trying to say is-”, Mickey cut her off with a gorgeous smile as he placed both hands on the table, his ‘F-U-C-K U-UP’ knuckle tattoos on full display and said with a hushed whisper, “You’re welcome.”

He got eye-fucked often, but Karen had practically ripped his clothes off from beneath her lashes. Little did she know he was into dick. Let her have her fantasy. It was the least he could do.

He snickered to himself as he finished his smoke and stretched. He’d been invited to a launch party by another client that evening and he couldn’t wait to celebrate over free booze. Mickey would find a way to get fucked or get his dick sucked one way or another. 

His phone rang and he reached to grab it, “What’s fucking new, skank?” he bit with no real bite. 

Mandy, Mickey’s younger sister and the closest thing he actually called a friend, bit back with some bite, “You were supposed to call me and tell me how your presentation went, asswipe!!” 

Mickey yawned, “Calm your tits, I was going to call you today. How the fuck you think it went? Pretty sure every woman in the room needed a change of panties when it was over.” 

Mandy laughed, “God you’re so fucking gross! So I guess that means you knocked their socks off?” she asked.

“Fuckin’ A I did,” Mickey retorted.

Mickey hadn’t seen Mandy in over a year and he missed her. He’d moved out to San Jose five years earlier to join his firm, a start-up who’d made a huge name for themselves in a short period of time. Two trust-fund brainiacs had launched the firm, hiring the best designers and developers, tossing out big dollars and shares in the company for the right talent. With the contracts Mickey helped them land, he knew an acquisition was only a matter of time. That’s just the way it went in Silicon Valley. 

Mickey had considered it a once in a lifetime opportunity. He wasn’t too concerned about a sale, he’d cash out and move on. He knew his portfolio was chalk-full of work that could land him another gig without much headache, or so he told himself. Silicon Valley wasn’t a place he liked to call home, it was expensive as fuck and the people were from another planet. He always had a knack for art and creativity, something he had to hide growing up. After graduating from the Art Institute of Chicago, he’d landed an internship at a small advertising agency and freelanced on the side, working hard to make a name for himself. His work wasn’t for everyone, but there was no denying his talent.

“You ARE still planning on coming out to visit at the end of the month, right? You promised!” Mandy whined.

“How many fuckin’ times you gonna keep asking? Said I was, bitch!”

Mandy clapped her hands and yelped, “Yayyyyy! Can’t wait. OK, gotta run. Congrats on yesterday, asshat. Talk soon?” 

Mickey gave his ‘yeah yeahs’ before hanging up. He honestly was looking forward to seeing her. Though she didn’t finish college, she’d worked as a receptionist at a small law firm in the northside and after several years, had gotten her Certified Paralegal certification. Her job sounded boring as fuck, but she made decent money and loved what she did. They were both on the fast-track, and with their piece of shit abusive father buried six feet under, they no longer had to run.

Mickey grabbed his Mac laptop and fired it up. He’d been tasked by Shea and Bobby, the owners, to seek out new business leads. He went straight for LinkedIn, but before keying up a search, clicked ‘Profile Views’ to see who had visited his page recently. Ian Gallagher. Hmph, a recruiter in Chicago. Not surprising. Mickey was constantly being blown up by recruiters with new job opportunities. This recruiter was hot as fuck. His hair HAD to be dyed, Mickey thought. No way someone was born with that type of blood-red stained hair. The guy’s eyes were gorgeous, a deep emerald green that had an honest look to them. They appeared to look right through you, not just at you, dismembering your insides without an invite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for clicking this fic to read! If you’re enjoying, please send a kudo my way. :) xo


	3. It's No Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll be fine. I'll be waiting patiently.  
> Till you see the signs, and come running to my open arms.  
> When will you realize?  
> Do we have to wait 'till our worlds collide?  
>   
> Depeche Mode  
> Album: Ultra  
> Track: It's No Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erikutta, my beta. Continued thanks.  
>   
> 

Ian adjusted his beanie and stepped outside. It was Sunday morning and he was craving a long run around the city to release pent-up energy after being zoned all weekend working. Chase had swung by Saturday evening for a quick beer and some weed before heading out to meet a new guy he’d been talking to. 

“So, how’s the search going for that Executive Creative Director job you pulled in? Any luck?” Chase asked.

Ian took a drag off the joint and passed it back to Chase, content for the quick break he offered from his unexpected visit. “It’s going, man. I’ve talked to a couple of candidates whose work was good, but their personalities nearly put me in a fucking coma. No real passion, you know? Martin’s looking for someone who can light a match and start a fire. He’s gonna be real picky, so I’ve got to nail it with my first submittal.”

Chase nodded knowingly. Ian appreciated that he understood the level of intensity that came with this type of search - hunting a purple squirrel, and from outside the Chicago market much less. Ian could find a creative executive all day long, this wasn’t his first top-level search, but for a firm like Corbijn and the level of pressure that would be placed on this role, your typical suit-wearing, run-of-the-mill candidate with a good portfolio wasn’t going to cut it.

“You’ll nail it. You always do,” Chase quipped, wiggling his eyebrows. The innuendo wasn’t lost on Ian. 

Ian laughed, “Shut the fuck up, asshole! As if you haven’t sucked a dick or two to use a little persuasion.” 

Chase stood to grab his jacket, “Hey man, whatever it takes to get the ball across the finish line. You know I fully support all seedy tactics here!” he joked, as he chugged the last of his beer.

Ian had, in fact, fucked a candidate a time or two, but not to seal any deal. One thing he took pride in and took seriously was being as honest as he could with his candidates about the jobs he approached them with, offering as much information on the role, the company, the up-sides as well as any down-sides involved. He genuinely cared about their livelihood, and would want the same in return if he were standing in their shoes. Making a career move was scary enough without some money-hungry selfish recruiter pulling the wool over their eyes. 

“Anyway, I gotta run. Let me know how things go, and thanks again for the party favors. I definitely needed to catch a quick buzz before tonight, this guy is smoking hot from the pics he shared. I’m kinda nervous,” Chase admitted. 

“Shut up with that shit. Since when do you get nervous, Mr. king of ‘I was the hottest guy in the room’,” Ian joked, using his fingers to quote his friend. 

“Hey, even the hottest guy in the room has a right to feel nervous from time to time!” Chase shouted over his shoulder as he opened the door and shot Ian the middle finger before letting himself out. 

Ian chuckled to himself as he set off for his run. There was some truth behind it - Chase was hot. He kept a close-shaved beard and wore his curly blonde hair longer than he probably should, but it worked for him. He reminded Ian of Patrick Swayze in the movie, Point Break. Their relationship never went beyond the fucking, they both had completely different taste in men. After being close, platonic friends for so long, the thought of sleeping with Chase today would feel like he was fucking his own brother. 

Ian turned his thoughts to Mikhailo. Aside from what he didn’t know about the man, he was definitely more Ian’s type, if he was going off of looks alone. Fuck, the dude was gorgeous. Those blue eyes and that raven hair. He appeared to have grit, a bad-boy persona coupled with the creative mind of a genius with an obvious successful career to boot. Ian planned on calling him once he got back to his loft and showered. He’d gone through in his head how how he wanted to approach the conversation and had taken plenty of notes on the work samples in Mikhailo’s portfolio to use as talking points. He just needed the guy to answer his damn phone, and give Ian his 30 seconds to make the perfect pitch intro. 

************

Ian stepped out of the shower, dried off and tied the damp towel around his waist. He wiped the steam off the mirror, placed his hands on the cold counter-top, and leaned in close to catch a glimpse of himself. Green eyes connected. ‘Fuck’, he thought as he glanced at his reflection. Life would be so much easier if he could just win the lottery. He knew he was sleep deprived. 

Noon rolled around as Ian sat in front of his computer, his Bluetooth ear plugs nestled in. He knew he shouldn’t put all his eggs in one basket, but there was just something about this particular candidate that put him on edge. Ian was more used to casting his net wide and reeling the bites in, dwindling the pool down until he caught, 'the one'. He flipped through his notes on Mikhailo, took a deep breath, and dialed the number. 

The phone rang three times before it was answered, “Ey! Sorry, hang on,” came the voice on the other end. There was loud music in the background. Ian heard the phone scuffle and nearly drop before the background noise dimmed and the voice on the other end answered, “Yeah?” 

“Hi, I’m trying to reach Mikhailo Milkovich?”

“Found,” was the only response Ian received.

When you have seconds to get it right and engage someone, it was never easy. This guy shook Ian’s nerves right from the start. 

“Hi Mikhailo, my name is Ian Gallagher and I found your portfolio online. Your work caught my eye, it’s great stuff. I’m a recruiter and specialize in placing creative talent. I’m working with a well-known global branding firm seeking to hire an Executive Creative Director to guide their strategic efforts and would love to discuss the opportunity with you. Did I catch you at a good time?”

Ian heard a half-laugh on the other end. Yeah, this was going to be a challenge. 

“Seriously, man? It’s fuckin’ Sunday,” the man barked. 

Ian kept his cool. Judging from his online stalking of Mikhailo’s profile, it was doubtful he’d offended or caught the guy on his way out to the nearest bible study. 

“I recognize it’s the weekend,” Ian stated. “If I caught you at a bad time, I’m available to talk tomorrow after 11:00 AM, your time. The client I’m working with and the role I’m calling you about won’t be a waste of your time. What does your availability look like tomorrow?” Ian knew the game. He had to drive the bus with confidence. Throwing out a specified time-frame meant his time was just as valuable. 

“Your spiel has me tingling from head to toe, but I aint interested in making a move. What’s the name of the company anyway?” Mikhailo asked, as if Ian was that naive to give up that type of information on the front-end. This was the exact response Ian had prepared for, right down to the ‘fuck off but, hey, tell me more’ diva attitude. 

“With all due respect, your work is really good. I’m sure you’ve been called by enough recruiters in your day to know that’s not how this works,” Ian said calmly. “If you’re happy where you’re currently at, I totally respect that. However, I believe this client will pique your interest and it never hurts to have a conversation, right? If you’ll offer me 30 minutes of your time we can-.”

Mikhailo cut him off and retorted with a snark, “With all DUE respect...Ian, was it? I ain’t got time for the fuckin’ cat-call bullshit. Not interested.” And with that, the line went dead.

FUCK.

Ian sat back and rubbed both hands down his face. Who the fuck did this prick think he was!? “Cat-call” bullshit? Ian was fuming. Mikhailo’s the type of candidate that irks recruiters. The type who thinks their shit doesn’t stink and don’t realize they need you, until they need you. He’d seen it time and time again. The second the asshole found himself without a job, the first phone call he’ll be making is to the closest search firm seeking assistance. Fuck him and the horse he rode in on.

Ian stood up and paced the room. He knew he should shake it off and keep plowing, but was too pissed off to be productive. He picked up his phone and dialed the one person he knew would make him laugh while letting him vent. 

“Heyyy!” the girl shrieked when she picked up. “I was actually just about to call you. I’ve got to run by the office later, so will be in your neck of the woods. You’re meeting me for dinner and a drink. Say no, and I’ll shank you!”

Ian’s face turned into a huge smile. “Mandy, you don’t gotta ask twice. Name the time and place. I just got off the phone with this fucking asshole out in California for that role with Corbijn and I need to vent. I’m so fucking pissed! I was calling to see what you had planned later,” Ian whined, like a kicked puppy.

Mandy’s tone immediately shifted, “Shit, sorry. That bad, huh? Well then...how does beer and a greasy burger sound!?”

 

Ian had met Mandy Martinelli two years earlier when he walked up to her reception desk at the law firm she worked at. At the time, the partners of the firm were seeking help with their website, which needed a redesign overhaul to draw more consumer traffic. By word of mouth, they’d been referred to Ian as someone who could help find them a freelancer for the project. 

Mandy had greeted Ian with a gaping jaw. Women typically stumbled over their words when they met Ian for the first time, but Mandy’s demeanor was ‘go-hard’, yet snarky and professional at the same time. He instantly liked her. She felt like home, a long-lost friend he’d never known. They made small talk before Ian was pulled into the meeting. After landing the contract and finding the perfect web designer three days later for the project, Ian and Mandy met for drinks and had been glued at the hip ever since. Her torment over Ian being hot and gay faded quick. He was the first real friend she’d ever known and he loved her more than anything. He knew he could always count on her. 

Ian arrived at the restaurant first and got them a table. As soon as he saw her walk through the front doors, he stood and greeted her with a warm hug. 

“OK, before you tell me what the fuck was so earth-shattering dramatic today, I need to know what your calendar looks like the Saturday from next?” Mandy asked with a smirk. 

Ian knew his friend too well. “Mandy, pleeeeeeeease! No more blind fucking dates,” Ian begged. 

“NO, assface! My brother, Mickey, is coming to town for two weeks to visit. I’m dying for him to meet you!” she cleared.

Mandy spoke of her brother often and Ian knew they were close. He lived somewhere in California and worked for some firm that Mandy described as, “silicon hipster bullshit”.

“Oh, yeah OK cool,” Ian replied. “Count me in. If he’s anything like you, I’ll be sure to pack a knife and a six-pack of cheap beer,” Ian joked as a soggy pickle was hurled towards his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A "Purple Squirrel" is a term recruiters use to describe a candidate that's spot-on perfect for a requested skill set. Typically, a skill set that's near-impossible to find.


	4. Master and Servant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domination's the name of the game.  
> In bed or in life, they're both just the same.  
> Except in one you're fulfilled, but at the end of the day...  
> Let's play, master and servant.  
>    
> Depeche Mode  
> Album: Some Great Reward  
> Track: Master and Servant

Mickey arrived at the office Monday morning exhausted. The client event he’d attended Saturday evening turned out to be a beat down. He’d hoped for a better turn out, but the top-shelf whiskey helped cool his jets as he suffered through the laborious task of making small talk with his client and others in the industry. 

Shea slapped Mickey on the back like an old friend, “That was something else yesterday, man. The looks on their faces was priceless! Here’s to Karen and her red-hot lips,” he jeered as he lifted his sifter for a toast.

Mickey silently rolled his eyes as he tapped his glass with a nod. “Thanks, Shea. I’m just happy they bought the concept. It’s a strong campaign, they should definitely see a return on their investment with the dollars they’re spending on it,” Mickey said with sincerity.

While Shea and Bobby had been good to him over the years, giving Mickey full creative power to develop his campaigns and pitch the ideas the way he wanted, he found them both annoying as fuck at the end of the day. They’d never had to roll up their sleeves and sweat blood. Neither had an inkling of what hard work really meant, or any passion for the creative foresight behind the work itself - a true anomaly in the industry, and it drove Mickey nuts. 

Both Shea and bobby had grown up in Laguna Beach with silver spoons practically shoved down their throats. The only stipulation imposed by their parents to withdraw funds from their Trusts was to graduate college. Done and done. Both kids had moved to San Jose and bought out a small design firm that was on the rise with existing, sizeable accounts. Their dad, also a trust fund lache, was a lawyer and handled the legal aspects of their business, while Shea and Bobby managed the day-to-day operations - if that’s what you called signing a bi-weekly paycheck to the Operations Director they’d hired managing the day-to-day. The guys were smart, Mickey gave them that much. Shea had majored in Economics and Bobby in Business Marketing. They both knew the kind of investment they were walking into. 

“Hey, so where are you at with new business leads?” Shea asked, all joking aside. 

“Uhh, I downloaded the annual reports from a few firms I found on the Hoover’s D&B. If their financials are any indication, they look to be a hot minute away from bankruptcy. Could be somethin’ worth exploring if a brand overhaul could help save ‘em,” Mickey stated. 

“Yeah, good, good. I know you’ll work your magic. Let us know when you get the meetings set.”

Mickey looked at Shea with a set of confused eyebrows, “Meetings? The fuck you talkin’ about?” he questioned his boss. 

Shea turned to the bartender for a refill, crammed a few bills in the tip jar, and with an air of casualty before strolling off said, “We can chat more about it on Monday. Enjoy the party, you’ve earned it!” 

The conversation had left Mickey unnerved. He tossed his laptop bag on his desk and was about to head to the break room for a much-needed coffee when Bobby poked his head out of his office and shouted, “Morning, Mickey! Hey, can we grab you for quick few before you get logged in?” 

“Yeah, sure thing. Gimme a sec,” Mickey shouted back. For fuck sake, Mickey thought before heading their way. What’s so goddamned important at the ass-crack of dawn on a Monday. 

 

Mickey threw open the door to his apartment later that evening and made a beeline for his fridge. He didn’t bother with an opener as he slammed the beer cap against the side of the counter, savoring the first gulp. His meeting that morning had come out of left field. Shea and Bobby wanted to move him into a full-time business development role while continuing to have him pitch concepts once prospects were in the door. He wasn’t a sales guy, he was a Creative Director, the “big idea” guy who brought it home. 

There had been no debate in the matter. It’s what they were expecting from him, and with no commissions or spike in salary for the effort. It’s not what he signed up for and definitely not what he went to art school for. Word of mouth had brought prospect clients to them in previous years, but new business had slowed, and rather than hire and pay for a sales lead generator, they wanted Mickey to absorb the additional role. 

He was three beers in and still seething when he logged into Gmail to check his personal messages. Among the random bill reminders and social pings, sat an email with the subject line, “Executive Creative Director - Let’s Talk”. The email was from Ian Gallagher. Mickey had completely forgotten about the Sunday call from the recruiter as he opened the email and read through the brevity of the body of well-crafted words. 

“Let’s talk,” Mickey mimicked with disdain, out loud to no one, working himself into a deeper frenzy. As if this guy knew fuck-all about him or what he was actually capable of. Just another recruiter trying to cash in, slinging noodles hoping one stuck. Ian Gallagher hadn’t disclosed who the hiring firm was, offering Mickey no other details than what he’d eluded to from their brief Sunday interaction. Mickey sighed. As short as the email was, his mind was in a state of forced reality with the bombshell dropped on him that day. He went to LinkedIn to look up the recruiter’s profile and sat with a stunned glare. Fiery red hair and emerald greens stared back. The same gorgeous eyes that had mesmerized him three nights earlier. The same man he’d basically told to go fuck himself the prior day.

Mickey had been too annoyed by the Sunday interruption to recall the guy’s last name or his gorgeous face during his search on LinkedIn Friday night to connect the dots.

Mickey cracked open his fourth beer and hushed out a ‘fuck it’, as he went to hit the ‘Reply’ button with nothing to lose.

Mickey’s reply had let the recruiter know that he was open to entertaining a conversation, offering his availability to speak that evening. His phone was ringing within the hour. 

It was past 10:00 pm by the time Mickey disconnected his call with Ian. It had gone well. So well in fact, that Mickey was left questioning what confused him more - the opportunity that sounded too good to be true or the gorgeous redhead that had put Mickey at ease the moment they’d said their hello’s. 

If Ian Gallagher thought Mickey was a prick, he didn’t let on. The conversation had begun with introductions before Ian dove into his personal background and specialization in the creative space, setting the tone that left Mickey no question or doubt that Ian understood the industry and more importantly, Mickey’s background and work. Ian came across genuine and honest, explaining in full who Corbijn, Inc. was, who they were seeking, and why. He’d left no stone unturned, and took the time to listen.

They ended up talking for more than two hours. It had taken Mickey some time to warm up to the conversation, in spite of the fact that he’d prompted it. The guy was either very good at faking his demeanor or Mickey had misjudged him entirely. Headhunters made commission on placements, this much Mickey knew. 

Mickey found it intriguing how easy it was for Ian to engage with a total stranger, combining business with small talk. It was as if he hung onto every word with a genuine curiosity, leading the conversation down unknown paths. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me! There’s no way Segal could kick Van Damme’s ass. What world are you living in?” Ian laughed through the phone, leaving Mickey on the breach of a battle.

“Say that again, I’ll rip your tongue outta your head,” Mickey jabbed back. 

“Oh, you think you’re a tough man, huh?” Ian poked.

The conversation had taken a turn from talking business to shooting the shit once they’d discovered they were both South Side bred, exchanging stories about the shenanigans they’d pulled growing up. They poked fun at each other’s taste in movies and actors, laughing it up as if they’d been playing on the same field without stopping to care where the pissing match ever started. The conversation flowed so easy, both men had seemingly forgotten the reason for the call to start.

“So what’s it going to take for you to make a move to Chicago?” Ian asked as their conversation drifted back to business. “I’ll need to pull together numbers for Martin. Talk to me about your base salary, bonuses, shares in stock you’d be walking away from. I need all cards on the table. Remember, I’m on your side here, man. The more you make, the more I make,” Ian said with a serious tone. 

Mickey wanted to believe for a moment that their conversation wasn’t just about a placement, a payday. His conversation with Ian had felt like there was some sort of connection beyond the skirts of a business opportunity, but the reality set back in. It wasn’t lost on Mickey that he was just a dollar sign to Ian. He was damn good at connecting with people, Mickey had to give him that much. 

After discussing what Mickey’s compensation needed to look like to make such a move, he’d agreed to have Ian present him to his client once he pulled together his updated resume and portfolio, which he promised to have over to Ian in the morning. 

“I don’t believe your compensation is going to be a problem. I would be totally shocked if Corbijn doesn’t bite. I know exactly what he’s looking for and your work is seriously some of the best I’ve seen,” Ian said with confidence. “He’ll likely want to start with a phone interview, possibly over video. If that goes well, he’ll fly you out to Chicago for a series of face-to-face meetings.” 

With Mickey’s trip to Chicago already planned, they had agreed to meet for lunch prior to Mickey formally meeting with the executives at Corbijn, if all went as expected. 

As Mickey lay in bed that night, he googled the redhead, his curiosity on a high. His Instagram offered just enough information to make his dick twitch, leaving just enough rope for him to ultimately hang himself on. Ian Gallagher was gay. ‘Fucking great,’ Mickey moaned as he turned out the lights, allowing sleep to take over. 

************

Mickey’s flight landed in Chicago Friday afternoon. As he grabbed his suitcase from baggage claim, he heard a loud squeal from behind him and turned to see his sister running full-throttle towards him. He braced for the attack as she threw her arms around him and rocked them back and forth with a never-ending hug.

“Nice to fuckin’ see your face too, bitch,” Mickey laughed as he peeled Mandy’s limbs from his tired body. 

Mandy punched him in the arm, “Oh, come on! You’re just as happy to see me too, assface. Admit it!!” she retorted before giving him a once-over. “Damn, California’s been good to you, big bro.”

“Will you fuck off with that shit long enough for me to take a piss? And your ass is driving me to the nearest bar for a burger and a pitcher of beer.” Though Mickey would never admit it, he was just as happy to see her too. She looked great, and happy. Freedom made them both look good. 

Mandy drove them to a small restaurant she’d discovered around the corner from the hotel where Mickey would be spending the next four days, accommodations provided by Corbijn, Inc. After reviewing Mickey’s work that Ian had sent over, an initial interview via Skype had been requested by Martin, which Ian had coordinated between the two earlier that week. The meeting had gone so well, Ian was on the phone with Mickey within 24-hours finalizing travel and hotel for Mickey to meet the firm in person. 

“We’re really excited to meet you, Mikhailo. I’ll have my assistant email the itinerary over to Ian for next week’s meetings, as well as a confirmation for the hotel information we typically have clients and out of town visitors stay. It’s just two blocks over from our offices,” Martin explained. 

Mickey nodded and responded, “Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, uh, for takin’ the time to explain your firm’s objectives here, man. I gotta say, I wasn’t really expecting much from the conversation. Recruiters hit me up all the time with shit opportunities,” Mickey said with no filter. 

Martin just smiled. “Well, that’s why I hired Ian. He came highly referred. I was told he’s a bloodhound, can really sniff them out. Looks like the rumors were true,” he said warmly.

 

“So tell me about this interview you’ve got lined up out here. How the fuck did that happen?” Mandy questioned. 

Mickey had caught Mandy up to speed on the shit going down at his firm, letting her know he’d be spending the first few nights at a hotel, fully expecting her temper tantrum that followed. She, of course, did not disappoint. 

“Got cased by a recruiter,” Mickey shrugged, as if everyone was sought-after and flown out across the country on someone else’s dime. He took another drag from his cigarette, blowing smoke through his nostrils, “Anyway, sounded like somethin’ worth exploring.”

His casual demeanor might have been missed by Mandy, but in truth Mickey was anxious and excited at the same time. Corbijn, Inc. was a huge name and a highly-esteemed firm. The opportunity would skyrocket his career. And in spite of the many conversations he’d had with Ian, the guy remained a mystery. He always kept his cool, approaching Mickey with a self-assured confidence he just wasn’t used to. Mickey typically controlled his settings and the environment where he stood. His short-lipped responses and ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude should’ve given Ian a run for his money, or an excuse to toss in the towel, but the recruiter never seemed fazed. It was hot. 

Mandy picked up her martini, sat back in her chair, and took a drag off her smoke. “My friend who’s meeting us out tomorrow night is actually a recruiter. Met him at my firm. He’s always up in arms about this or that. His job sounds stressful as fuck. He was just bitching the other day about some prick asshole he’d been trying to connect with, dude practically knocked him out in the first round, right in the middle of his sentence. Not sure how he does it. Anyway, you’ll like him. Hell, you might even get lucky,” Mandy smirked. 

Mickey lit another cigarette as he shook his head and laughed. Was every fucking recruiter in this town a fag? 

“Sounds like a plan to me. Just hope your friend doesn’t bottom,” Mickey joked, knowing his sister would gross-out with a screech. 

Once again, she did not disappoint.


	5. What's Your Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody seems to look your way now  
> (everybody seems to look your way)  
> Everybody wants to know your name  
> (hey, hey, what's your name)
> 
> Depeche Mode  
> Album: Speak and Spell  
> Track: What's Your Name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following this story! POV will be divided within chapters vs. single POV moving forward.
> 
> Erikutta, thank you for continued guidance. xoxoxo

Ian dialed Mikhailo’s cell phone early Friday evening, following up to make sure he’d landed safely and was able to find the hotel without any issues. His call was picked up on the second ring. 

“Ey, Ian. How are you man?” came the voice on the other end. 

Ian smiled, thankful his face was hidden. Mikhailo obviously had his number saved in his phone, a perfectly normal thing for anyone to do given their circumstances, yet it made him warm inside. The smooth-talking, South Side-bred Californian put Ian on edge every time they spoke. Mikhailo’s gritty demeanor and attitude unnerved him. There was background noise, letting Ian know his candidate was out, likely visiting friends, so he did his best to keep the conversation short.

“I’m good, thanks. I know it’s a bit late, but I wanted to check and make sure you made it in town and didn’t have any problems checking in at the hotel?” Ian responded with an awkwardness he prayed wasn’t detected. 

Ian had done his fair share of stalking the brunette over the past two weeks. He knew enough about Mikhailo outside of their business-related venture to know he wanted to know more about the man. Their conversations were easy and always went longer than what they probably should, longer than most conversations Ian had with anyone in his own personal life. He preferred to keep his personal life separate from business, but Mikhailo Milkovich was the classic example of hot, straight, hetero-masculinity with a creative-edge that made Ian question life’s cruelties.

There was a slight shuffling on the other end of line and Ian could barely make out the sound of a hushed apology as Mikhailo made his way to a more quiet area from wherever he currently stood. 

“Sorry about that. I’m out with my sister and she’s been forcin’ drinks down my fuckin’ throat ever since I landed,” Mikhailo scuffed, with his typical un-filtered demeanor that Ian had grown to appreciate. “Anyway, yeah, all good. The hotel is sick, kinda wasn’t necessary,” He responded. 

“Yeah, that’s Martin for you. Just enjoy it,” Ian laughed. “So, um, does Sunday afternoon still work on your end to meet for lunch? I’d like to walk you through some semantics before your meetings on Monday and make sure you’re comfortable with any questions that might come up regarding compensation. That piece of negotiations is something I handle on behalf of you.”

Ian was staring at the blue-eyed beauty as they spoke. He’d pulled up the profile of Mikhailo on Facebook, happy to find that at least a few choice photos were made public. He clicked through the limited eye-candy as they continued their conversation. 

“Sunday works. Not gonna lie, this shit’s new to me. Never thought I’d be entertaining a firm back here in Chicago,” Mikhailo said. “Gotta hand it to you, you’re the first recruiter to grab my attention.”

Ian lit the end of a joint he’d rolled earlier, inhaling a healthy drag that left him coughing as he chuckled, “Yeah, well, you just gotta know how to man-handle,” Ian joked, instantly cringing at the innuendo he’d let fall from his lips. “I mean… shit, what I meant was-” he tried to explain before he was cut off.

“You chokin’ on your words or on something more fun over there?” Mikhailo levied, leaving Ian both confused and mortified. He’d done enough cyber-stalking to fully assess that his candidate was likely not gay, and was now more than likely being questioned on whether or not he’d pass a piss test. 

“I, uh...yeah...shit, it’s Friday night. What self-respecting South Sider doesn’t partake?” Ian half-chuckled while rubbing the back of his neck, leaving the dialogue open for interpretation on both ends. He needed to end this conversation now, and quick, to save himself from further disparity. 

He heard a light-hearted snicker as Mikhailo responded, “That’s good to fuckin’ know. Next time, maybe share the love.”

Ian was dumbfounded. There was no mistaking the flirting in the tone of voice that pierced his eardrum. 

“Duly noted,” Ian snickered back. “So, um, there’s a decent cafe in the hotel you’re staying at and I thought that might be a convenient place for us to meet on Sunday...say, noon?” Ian suggested. 

“Yeah, sounds good to me. I’ve got dinner plans tomorrow night and will do my best to cut out on my sister before shit gets too crazy. Apologies up front man if I show up looking haggard,” He responded.

Impossible, thought Ian. “No worries. I’ve got plans with a crazy galpal of my own tomorrow night. I know how it goes. Enjoy the rest of your night and I’ll see you on Sunday,” Ian said. 

“Yeah, see you then,” Mikhailo responded, before disconnecting the call from a very frazzled redhead. 

 

Saturday morning rolled around and Ian found himself at Chase’s condo, rummaging through his closet of never-ending hordes of California-casual style clothing. He’d called Chase and woken him up to let him know he was coming over to raid his digs, bringing with him Chase’s favorite coffee from a dive coffee shop that sold the “best beans in town”. Coffee was coffee to Ian. He drank it for the caffeine, not the taste. 

“I don’t get why it matters what the fuck you wear to meet a goddamn candidate,” Chase questioned, as he laid casually-sprawled out on his bed, coffee in hand, watching his friend tear his closet apart. Ian tossed a few button-downs on the bed, half-covering Chase as he went back to the closet to continue rummaging. 

Ian appeared again with a faded green t-shirt and a vintage v-neck burgundy sweater with just enough wear and tear to complete the look. 

“These with dark skinny jeans and my worn-out, brownish-red Doc Martens?” Ian asked without seeking an answer. He held both pieces up to his chest and glanced in the mirror, “OK yes, this is the outfit.”

“Jesus, you are so gay! For real dude, what in the actual fuck?” Chase questioned as he rolled over on the bed to grab a smoke from his night-stand. He lit the flame and took a drag. “Since when do you show up to a meeting looking like a rich hobo? You’ve got three closets at your place full of clothes and you pick two pieces that cost me a dime at a thrift store?”

Ian stole a cigarette from Chase’s pack and smiled at the floor. ”I don’t know what it is about this guy. He’s…different. He’s got this tough-guy attitude, but underneath the surface he’s simple. And, fucking gorgeous. And brilliant. And, well, I don’t know. Our conversations feel like there’s this mutual ‘something’ going on. If there’s an off-chance he’s gay, I want to at least walk in with my best foot forward.”

Ian looked over at Chase, knowing all too well what thoughts were going through his friend’s mind. He knew he was being ridiculous, but couldn’t help wanting to hope. What were the odds of finding the perfect candidate in California from the South Side, willing to possibly relocate back to Chicago? Mikhailo had consumed Ian’s thoughts since the first moment he laid eyes on his work and his photo. He couldn’t get him out of his head. The odds that he was gay were the only odds that he was playing. Their last conversation had left him hopeful.

“Look man, if you want to put your best foot forward, just be you. That’s all you need,” Chase said, with a genuine fondness for his friend. 

Before Ian could respond, his phone rang. “Hey Mands,” Ian answered warmly.

“Hey yourself, asshat.” Mandy spat back. “I’m about to head out with my brother to run errands and waste our day away. Making sure you got my text earlier. 7:00 over at Stan’s on the North Side.” 

Ian checked his phone for the first time that morning and saw Mandy’s text. “Yeah, just saw it. I’ll be there.”

“Sweet! Can’t wait. Reservations are in my name in case you get there first,” Mandy replied.

Ian laughed, “As if that would be different from any other night?”

“Fuck off. See you tonight,” Mandy bit before hanging up.

Ian tossed his phone aside and turned back to the mirror to give himself a once-over. Chase was right, he was acting absurd. Either way, it was a good look on him. He’d wear it out tonight instead.

************

Mickey looked over the drink menu as Mandy flagged down their waiter. He was exhausted and needed a double-neat choice whiskey to sip as he trucked through the boring events to come. Mandy’s friend was running late, so they’d taken their seat and had begun ordering cocktails. Mickey had tried to wiggle his way out of the evening, but Mandy’s bitch-sesh had shut him down before he’d had a chance to finish his rant. 

She looked at her phone as it blinked alive with an incoming text. 

“He’s parking,” she stated, responding to the text as Mickey looked on with boredom.

“’Bout fuckin’ time,” Mickey yawned, leaning back in the booth as he waited for his drink. 

He’d worn black denim and a Stone’s t-shirt with a light blue-grey jacket that made his eyes pop. Mandy mentioned her friend was hot and gay one too many times and his only chance of getting out of the evening unscathed was the possibility of getting laid. 

The waiter dropped their drinks and made his exit. Mickey picked up his glass of caramel-filled beauty and lightly shook it with a casual swag before asking, “Liam always keep you fuckin’ waiting?”

Mandy rolled her eyes as she picked up her martini and corrected her brother, “IAN, assface. And, no. He’s one of the good ones, in case you’re about to go postal. He’s never late,” She stated. 

“Your friend’s name is Ian?” Mickey questioned, with raised eyebrows and a shocked forehead. Before he could dive further into the name in question, Mandy shrieked at the approaching stranger from behind Mickey’s shoulder as she flew out of the booth to greet him. 

Mickey saw a flash of red hair and toned arms as they lifted his sister off the ground, twirling her around like a feather in a seemingly never-ending hug. He heard laughing as the two united, watching with stunned eyes as her friend gently placed her back on solid ground with a smile stretched across his face. That face. That hair. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Mickey heard him murmur to his sister, as he continued to bear-hug the hell out of her. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Ian Gallagher? 

Mandy pulled away from Ian and led him by the hand to the booth, spazzing at the helm to make introductions. Mickey watched Ian’s reaction in slow motion as the look on his face registered who he was. He obviously wasn’t the only one guilty of cyber-stalking.

“Ian, Mickey. Mickey, Ian.” Mandy gushed as she tucked a piece of fallen hair behind her ear, completely unaware of the shell-shocked looks on both of the men’s faces. 

Mickey was struck by the wildness of Ian’s hair. The pictures he’d seen had not done him any justice. The red flames were tamed, longer in front and gelled with a casual tousle, shaved thin on the sides. He wore a v-neck burgundy sweater that made the color of his hair that much more striking. His emerald, green eyes glimmered as they connected with his. Fuck, he was gorgeous. 

Ian seemed lost in the moment, as Mandy appeared to fade in the background. 

“Mikhailo?” Ian questioned, seeking answers as he continued staring, looking back and forth between Mickey and Mandy. “You’re Mickey?!”

Mandy watched with a confused look as her brother and best friend lost themselves in one another before catching on. “No fucking way.”

Mickey stood to shake the hand of his sister’s best friend. “Mikhailo, but you can call me Mickey,” He said with a light-hearted laugh, completely aware of the profound, fucked-up turn of events the evening had just taken.


	6. Sweetest Perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I stop and I stare too much.  
> Afraid that I care too much.  
> And I hardly dare to touch.  
> ...for fear that the spell may be broken. 
> 
> Depeche Mode  
> Album: Violator  
> Track: Sweetest Perfection

Ian stood totally speechless, gaping at the brunette while he gripped the hand of one of the hottest men he’d ever seen. The mantra ‘what the fuck, what the fuck’ repeated itself over and over in his head, as he scrambled to make sense of the coincidence. 

Mickey Milkovich. How had he missed it? Mandy never mentioned her maiden name, and Ian never asked. He knew she’d grown up South Side, under the guise of an abusive father, and never spoke of her family outside of her brother Mickey. Mandy had met and married an Italian douchebag, keeping his last name after she divorced the cheating loser. She’d been young and desperate, but smart enough to leave and keep moving forward. 

Time stood still as Ian was able to take in the full beauty of the man standing before him. The blue eyes that stared back took his breath away. They were the color of the ocean itself, contrasted against raven hair that was styled almost as similar to Ian’s own cut. Mickey’s lips were moving, but Ian couldn’t hear a word he was saying. Those lips. Ian found himself staring and unable to speak, completely dumbfounded. 

The pitch of Mandy’s voice brought him back to the present. 

“This is crazy! Ian is the recruiter you’ve been working with out here?!” She belted at Mickey.

“Apparently so.” Came the equally-confused, shocked response from her brother. “Nice to meet you, Ian. Guess dinner’s on you tonight since this is now technically a business meeting.” Mickey poked.

Mandy gasped as she punched Mickey in the arm. “Ian, ignore him. Now that I know this is the asshole you’ve been talking about, I’m surprised you’re still putting up with his shit!”

Ian finally spoke, “Mikha-I mean, Mickey. It’s nice to meet the man behind the mask. I’m not sure how I missed the connection, but shit… well, damn,” Ian said with a light chuckle, slowly counting backwards as he tried his best to control his breathing and keep the conversation somewhat professional. After all, this was a business relationship. Mickey had just made that much clear. His demeanor was hard to read. There was still that edge to his voice and in his words. 

Now that he was standing in front of the gorgeous creative, Ian was questioning his hopes for a fairy-tale love match. He knew he needed to reel it in. Believing that this was some sort of two-sided connection wasn’t likely going to do him any favors, nor would it bring him any closer to a placement with Martin Corbijn. 

************

“OK, so anyway, in walks Ian and I was like, fuckin’ hell this guy’s hot!” Mandy retold the story of how she’d met her best friend, recounting her firm’s initiative that brought them together, as the three stabbed their forks into a gigantic piece of shared-chocolate heaven.

Mickey watched Ian roll his eyes at his sister. He was endearing, with a mannerism that was impossible not to appreciate. It was no wonder Ian was successful at what he did, Mickey thought. He appeared to appreciate every word that fell out of the mouths of those around him, with a heartfelt understanding regardless if he had previously stood in their shoes. The guy was real. 

Once the initial shock had worn off, the three had taken their seats and Mickey had immediately ordered another double-neat. He stole masked glances at Ian throughout the evening, doing his best to act nonchalant. Ian appeared casual and calm, as if random coincidences of serendipity often fell into his lap. He saw the look in Ian’s eyes throughout dinner and questioned what they saw back as they glanced up only to withdraw just as quickly. There was a questionable silence between them, as if they both understood what was playing out, but neither had a clue how to process it. 

Mickey knew Ian was gay, thanks to his sister’s informalities and his own investigation of the hot redhead. He was by no means in the closet, but Mickey wasn’t ‘out’ and loud about it and had no clue if Ian knew he also preferred dick. He trusted Mandy enough to keep that piece of his life private. 

The conversation between the three flowed with as much ease as the cocktails they ordered, neither skipping a beat. Mickey was feeling good, he’d caught a decent-sized buzz well before dessert was ordered. Ian’s face was flushed and he became more animated as his own apparent buzz seemed to take over.

“So, yeah, it all worked out in the end. The guy took the offer and the client was happy. Thank fucking God. I just wanted the fucker off my plate, regardless if he accepted it or not. Prick played hardball, wasting everyone’s time throughout the entire fucking process. It wasn’t until after I did his reference checks that I learned he was actually fired from his “current” employer two months before I hit him up with this gig.” Ian said with a high-pitched tone of voice. He talked about his recruiting experiences that had left him sleep-deprived and questioning his ability to sniff out basic bullshit. 

“What was he fired for?” Mickey questioned.

“Fucking sexual harassment!” Ian practically shouted. “Can you believe that shit?” He choked, flailing his hands in the air for added dramatics.

Mickey couldn’t deny how adorable he was the more pissed off he became. “You ever tell your client that shit?” 

“Yes, I fucking told them! They didn’t fucking care. As if I was making too big a deal about something that should’ve been a big fucking deal!!” 

Mandy piped in, “Wait, was this the dude that practically stalked you?”

Ian nodded, “Same asshole. He kept insinuating he owed me drinks for landing him his dream job. Again, after weeks of negotiating his salary when he wasn’t even fucking working in the first place!” 

“Damn, maybe I should get into recruiting. Sounds like an easier way to get laid than hitting the clubs.” Mickey stated, with an unabashed claim.

He watched as Ian’s head practically spun off his neck in a 180 spin. Their eyes met across the table and Mickey watched again, in slow motion, as Ian’s mind tried to decipher the code in his words. He’d have to thank his sister later for always looking out for his privacy. 

Mandy’s phone lit up and she excused herself as Ian ordered another beer. 

Ian chucked through his nerves. “So, I guess now you know more about life on the other side. Sorry to bore you,” He said, shaking his head. 

“Not bored in the fuckin’ slightest,” Mickey stated, his tongue lightly grazing his bottom lip with a small bite as he stared Ian up and down from across the table, not bothering to hide the obvious signals he was tossing the red head. Mickey would be lying if he denied his attraction to Ian. His engines were full-speed ahead and he didn’t give a fuck, outside of the real possibility of getting fucked. He was interested in the opportunity with Corbijn, but he had nothing to lose at the end of the day. 

Ian’s demeanor shifted. There should’ve been no mistaking the innuendo Mickey had just dropped and the look in Ian’s eyes proved him correct. Mickey’s appreciation for the ginger grew deeper. Ian was a Southsider who’d made something of himself and there was a warmth in his presence that overtook his good looks. His cheeky grin was adorable. 

Mandy sauntered back over to the table and slid back into the booth next to Ian, bumping their shoulders. “I gotta check out guys. We’ve got a brief due Monday and I need to review a bunch of docs that just came through, it’s gonna take me the rest of the weekend,” She said with a sigh. “Want me to drive you back to the hotel?” She asked her brother.

Mickey flagged down their waiter, “Nah, don’ worry ‘bout it. I can Uber. Barely 10:00pm, gonna have another drink and chill.”

Mandy gave her brother a warm smile as the waiter set the tab down on the table. Ian gracefully slid the plastic holder his way, inserting his Amex and immediately handed it back to the waiter as he fought off the Milkovich siblings with his overstretched octopus arms. 

“Assface! Love you,” Mandy snarled with an intended ‘Thank You’, as she hugged her best friend and kissed his cheek. 

“Love you too. Text me when you make it home, kay?” Ian responded.

Mandy stood up from the booth and leaned over the other side to give Mickey a swat on the head, causing him to duck from the minor attack. “Have fun you two. Call me tomorrow,” She winked. And with that, they were alone. 

************

Ian quickly elbowed his way over to the two stools just recently abandoned. He shifted in his seat with his elbow on the counter, watching as Mickey made himself comfortable next to him. 

“Damn, Gallagher. Remind me to wear my running shoes next time,” He laughed, trying to catch his breath from the sprint. 

“Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,” Ian shrugged.

“Yeah fucker, and Jack sawed off his fuckin’ dick,” Mickey barked.

Ian looked at Mickey, then glanced away with a questioning forehead as if he was lost in thought before glancing back over and with all seriousness questioned, “No, he jumped over a candlestick?”

Both men paused and their eyes met before busting out laughing, each holding their stomachs as they leaned over the bar roaring. They were clearly drunk. Mickey’s laughter echoed, pinging off of the walls in Ian’s reverie, as he tried to mask his adoration towards his candidate.

After Mandy’s departure from the restaurant they'd stayed for two more rounds, people-watching, talking about their lives and taking in the scenery around them as they tried to pretend that neither had a single hint of interest in the other. Ian had never felt more comfortable in conversation with someone without pretense, in spite of the attraction he felt. Mickey laughed at his jokes, asked questions about his family, spoke in turn about his own while keeping tune with his personal style of tone. Ian was torn between wanting what he needed and what he wanted. It was a drawl. Mickey was his candidate. The complications and the mere conflict of interest consumed his thoughts on one end, while the attraction and desperate desire for the vulgar-speaking, South Side Californian broke down the other. 

“Let me guess,” Ian questioned once their grade-school giggling had calmed. “Jack Daniels, two-fingers neat.” He said, as he scanned the bottles that lined the mirrored glass behind the bar, signaling for the bartender. 

They’d decided to have a final drink at the hotel lounge where Mickey was staying. It was a bustling hot spot in the city, much to their dismay, but the background faded as they lost themselves once again in conversation. Mickey seemed less guarded as he talked openly about his love for his work and the creative passion he put behind it. Ian listened intently as he found himself scooting his stool closer to Mickey’s. He was feeling just buzzed enough to toss all air out the window.

“You think you know what I like?” Mickey snarked. 

Once again, the innuendo wasn’t lost on Ian.

“I know what I like, can’t comment outside of that,” Ian stated with a heated glare.

“Yeah?” Mickey questioned. “And what’s that?” 

Ian’s eyes were focused on Mickey’s lips. They were beautiful. He watched as Mickey’s tongue glided over the corner of his bottom lip before biting down, glaring back at Ian with raised eyebrows in a questionable stare. Ian was lost in the confusion of whether or not this would be a colossal mistake, but decided to trust the moment. He pulled Mickey’s stool flush with his, taking the brunette by surprise as he shifted toward the man and whispered in his ear, “I know I like what I see.” 

Ian watched the flush of red that overtook his pale skin as Mickey turned to look him in the eyes. Their faces were inches apart. Two sifters of Bourbon were placed on the counter, but neither bothered to look up or thank the bartender. 

“Yeah?” Mickey asked with a hushed tone. 

“Yeah.” Ian husked.

His hand gently pulled Mickey’s head toward him and brought their lips together. Mickey responded without hesitation. Their lips moved slowly as their tongues softly connected, neither caring about a public scene or who was watching. Ian groaned into the brunette’s mouth as the kiss deepened, keeping his hand locked on the back of Mickey’s head as his other hand found its way to Mickey’s thigh, slowly gliding over his jeans. Mickey’s right hand latched onto the side of Ian’s face as his tongue continued its dance before Ian slowed it down with a final seductive bite to Mickey’s bottom lip. 

"Fuck." Ian panted as he glanced away from Mickey. 

“Whad'ya say we take this upstairs, Firecrotch?” Mickey asked with a light tap to Ian's cheek, as he slowly pulled away and took his shot of brown ember. 

Ian slowly looked back over to Mickey and smiled as he threw back his own shot before tossing a few bills on the counter, adjusting his hard-on. 

He was officially down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading - stay with me. The goods are coming.  
> ;-) xoxoxoxo


	7. Freelove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I'm only here, to bring you free love.  
> Let's make it clear, that this is free love.  
> No hidden catch.  
> No strings attached.  
> ...Just free love.
> 
> Depeche Mode  
> Album: Exciter  
> Track: Freelove

The elevator doors closed behind them and they were once again alone. Ian slowly pushed Mickey against the mirrored glass, caging him in with planted hands on the cold surface above his head. Mickey looked up and lost himself in the green eyes staring back. Ian’s face was flushed, with a few strands of bright-red tousled hair that had fallen in a messy stand-off with his forehead. It was the hottest sight. He placed his hands on Ian’s hips, pulling his body close with not an inch to spare. 

“The fuck you staring at?” Mickey questioned, his voice barely audible. 

“You,” Ian whispered, as he lowered his head and took a deep breath. “I don’t want this to look…I just don’t want you to think-” Mickey cut him off mid-sentence as he dug his hands deeper into Ian’s hips, inviting him to take what he was offering.

“Don’t,” He pressed.

“Don’t what?” Ian questioned, as he brought his eyes back up to look into Mickey’s.

“Don’t have to go there man. On the same page,” Mickey whispered admittedly.

This level of vulnerability was a first for Mickey. He reasoned that this was nothing more special than any other random hookup, but he knew he was lying to himself. It was an odd connection that went beyond their mutual business interest. They were cropped from the same soil, grown from the same feed, removed from barren dirt and driven to grow, and then somehow found themselves intertwined within a random circumstance hard to define. 

Ian’s right hand moved down from the mirror and softly took hold of Mickey’s face, bringing their lips together again. Mickey dug his hands deeper into the hem of Ian’s jeans as he brought him closer, deepening the kiss. He could feel the redhead’s cock stiffen and moaned into his mouth as their tongues graced each others in perfect motion. 

The elevator stopped and they disengaged as the doors opened. Mickey pushed Ian forward and led him down the hall to his suite, fumbling for his key as they arrived at the door. He felt Ian’s breath on the back of his neck and once again two hands were planted in front of him. He pushed back against Ian’s chest and connected their bodies, rolling his hips back in a teasing measure, drawing a groan out of the redhead. 

“Fuck sake, man,” Mickey said, as he turned his face to meet Ian’s lips, while fumbling to slide the card to unlock the door as they continued past the turning point.

The signal on the lock turned green and Ian pushed the door open, spinning Mickey so that they were once again face to face, backing him into the dark suite as they inched their way inside. Mickey tore his coat off and pulled away from Ian as he flipped on the nearest light switch, taking in the sight of the hot redhead. Ian smiled and walked closer, tugging his sweater up over his head before tossing it on the floor next to Mickey’s discarded jacket.

“You are gorgeous,” Ian stated. 

Mickey smirked and licked his bottom lip. “C’mere,” He said, as he grabbed Ian’s shirt and pulled him down in another heated kiss. He felt Ian’s fingers comb through his hair, his hand moving to hold the back of his head in a tight grasp that made him feel secure. It was a measure he was beginning to appreciate. Ian seemed to naturally take control, something Mickey wasn’t used to, and he had to admit that he loved the fearless nature of Ian Gallagher. 

************

Ian’s heart was beating fast as he kissed Mickey. This was the last place he thought he would end up after assuming he was in for an evening that involved a chill dinner and a few drinks with Mandy and her brother, someone who would become a passing image in his mind after the night ended.

Ian walked Mickey backwards toward the bed, released him, and tore off his t-shirt. He watched Mickey’s eyes as they scanned his chest, down to his abs, stopping at the hem of Ian’s jeans. 

Mickey tugged his own shirt over his head and tossed it.

Ian was lost in the moment, still teetering on the reality of this being real. He moved in, biting Mickey’s earlobe as he unbuckled the brunette’s jeans and slowly pulled them down, neither breaking contact as Mickey shook them off and tossed them to the side with his foot. Not missing a beat, Ian unbuckled the belt off of his own jeans, and followed suit.

“Chris sake, Gallagher,” Mickey said as he took in the sight of Ian’s fully-erect wonder. 

Ian smiled shyly and pushed Mickey down on the bed, pulling him up toward the pillows. “I think we’re on the same page,” He said with a laugh as he wrapped his hand around Mickey’s cock while attacking his lips, kissing him with a need that went beyond the scope of what he’d ever previously experienced. 

This was crazy, Ian surmised as he reckoned with the outright ludicrousness of events leading up to meeting Mickey, coupled with the shear perfection of the brunette’s physical beauty. 

Ian traced his tongue down Mickey’s neck, licking and biting as he indulged himself in the pale skin as he continued his way down the length of Mickey’s body. He dug his fingers into muscled-thighs, grabbing hold before taking the head of Mickey’s dick in his mouth. 

“Fuck.” Ian heard Mickey moan, as he teased the head of his dick with his tongue, licking it in meandering fashion as he lightly teased Mickey’s balls before pulling off hastily, moving back up to take Mickey in his mouth. 

“Fuck. I want you,” He breathed. 

“Mutual,” Mickey returned with a breathy sigh.

“I want to fuck you,” Ian stated, making clear of his intentions.

“The fuck you waitin’ for, an e-vite?” Mickey sneered.

Ian practically jumped off the bed and fumbled to find his wallet, grabbing a packet of lube and a condom. He made his way back to the bed and tossed the goods next to Mickey. He looked down and revered in the sight as he slowly made his way back down to Mickey. Ian kneeled above him, opening his legs wider with his knees as he tore open the packet.

He wasted no time prepping Mickey, teasing him as his anxiety built, praying the brunette couldn’t detect it. He was three-fingers deep when he heard a soft moan. Perfect, yes…that’s what he was searching for. After all, a guide without a map was useless.

Mickey grabbed the condom wrapper and ripped it open with his mouth, staring up at Ian seductively as he slowly slid the condom down tight over his dick. 

“Fuuuuuuuck,” Ian moaned as he planted both hands on the pillow above Mickey’s head and slowly pushed inside. 

************

Mickey felt the burn. Ian was controlled as he gently pushed his way inside and rolled his hips as he slowly inched back out before moving in deeper until he was fully seated. Mickey wrapped his ankles around the back of Ian’s thighs inviting him to go hard. He watched as Ian dipped his head before lifting it back up again in a swift motion and began thrusting. 

“Fuck, Mick. You’re perfect,” Ian moaned.

Mickey laughed as Ian looked down at him with a confused look, slowing down his thrusts. 

“Mind telling me what’s so fucking funny?” Ian mused as he breathed in Mickey’s ear.

“You, that’s what.” Mickey smirked. “I’m Mick now? Long road from Mikhailo, dontcha think?”

Ian took a deep breath and looked at Mickey and smiled, resting his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck as they broke out in laughter. Mickey wrapped his legs tighter around Ian, bucking his hips, not about to lose any momentum. Ian lifted back up and began pounding into him, hitting his prostrate without mercy. 

Mickey cried out and threw his hands down to grab hold of Ian’s ass, pushing him deeper and harder. “Fuck, Ian.”

Ian continued snapping and rolling his hips. Mickey shouldn’t have been surprised that Ian was a boss in bed, but he hadn’t expected the ride to be so explosive.

“So close,” Ian murmured as he lowered down flush against Mickey, balancing himself on his elbows as his body gave friction to Mickey’s leaking cock. Ian continued his pace, rolling his hips in a steady-snap motion.

“Don’t stop!” Mickey screamed as he felt the heat overtake his senses. His lips found Ian’s and he moaned into his mouth as he came hard, coating his chest while his nails dug into the flesh of Ian’s ass. He felt Ian’s dick spasm as he thrust into Mickey hard with intention before burying himself balls-deep, crying out as he found his own release. 

Once their heart rates returned to normal, Ian lifted himself up and smiled down at Mickey. 

“Shit,” Ian breathed. 

“Hope there’s a first-aid kit somewhere in this place, pretty sure I drew blood back there,” he laughed with a devious look as he slapped Ian’s ass, drawing a final yelp out of the redhead.

 

Mickey opened the door to the balcony and lit a cigarette, took a drag and offered it to Ian. They shared the smoke in a semi-comfortable silence as they stood in the doorway taking in the city lights around them. It was close to 2:00 am, but neither were watching the clock. The only plans each had for the day was a business lunch that was likely to be cancelled. 

Mickey glanced over at Ian and ran his thumb over his lip, taking him in. He’d just had the best fuck of his life, and not by a complete stranger. He gave thought to the fact that this was unchartered territory, much less with the inner-mixings of business and his career.

Ian glanced at Mickey as he took a drag and passed it back over. 

“What?” Ian asked with a tilt of his head and a smile.

Mickey shifted against the door and pushed away to lean over the edge of the balcony, his back facing Ian as he breathed in the early morning air. He turned and rested his back against the railing, taking a drag off the smoke. 

“Recruiting, huh? Jus’ curious how you do it man,” He questioned with a lofty sigh, smoke streaming from his nostrils. “Seems like a tough gig, talkin’ to assholes all day, sellin’ them on talkin’ to you?”

Mickey didn’t mean to come across offensive. The truth was he was curious. Ian had to break down barriers before he could even get to the point of talking about opportunities. It had to say something about the redhead. 

Ian let out a hearty chuckle as he lifted his face to the sky and took the cigarette back from Mickey.

“I don’t know. I guess… it’s just easy for me. Growing up in a big family as a middle child I always felt lost. Like I didn’t have a voice. A friend introduced me to this industry and it just sort of took off. I know what I’m doing here, and I like being taken serious and having people respond. I feel like I was born to do this.” Ian stated with sincerity.

“I must’ve sounded like a complete fuckin’ dick,” Mickey joked light-heartedly.

Ian walked over to Mickey and leaned in close. “Yeah, you completely fucking ruined my Sunday,” He admitted, as he took Mickey’s lip and bit down.

Mickey smiled into Ian’s kiss and ran his hands down to grab Ian’s hips, still clad in the damp towel from their earlier shower together.

“Just wonderin’ how this plays out from here?” Mickey questioned in a combined-tone of wonderment as to why he was here in the first place coupled with what he and Ian were doing in the moment. He hated that he cared enough to ask at all. Mickey knew his creative work was the reason they were brought together at all, but the turn of events with Ian had him questioning everything. 

Ian tossed the cigarette over the side of the patio and pulled Mickey closer to deepen their kiss.

“It plays out with you not worrying about it. Go in on Monday and rock Martin and his team’s world,” He whispered in Mickey’s ear, tugging him slowly back into the suite.

************

Ian dragged Mickey back down onto the bed, tackling him as he held his body down in a grappled-hold. He found Mickey’s lips and drew him in for a heated kiss, breathing in his scent as he indulged in the meaty flesh of Mickey’s bottom lip, before biting down and taking in the flesh.

“Tell me something about you I don’t know,” Ian breathed as he pulled off, staring down at Mickey.

Mickey distanced himself and mumbled, “Not much to fuckin’ tell,” as he rolled off the bed and headed toward the mini-bar. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Ian pressed as he looked at Mickey with steady eyes, pulling the sheets over his near-naked body as he pulled himself up close to the headboard. His interest went far beyond any business deal or commission pay-out. He knew he was out of bounds with what had just played out between them, but he was too high on adrenaline from the evening to care. 

“How ‘bout you tell me somethin’ about you,” Mickey countered as he twisted the cap off the one-shot bottle and took a swig with raised brows.

“Ask me a question and I’ll answer,” Ian replied. 

Mickey swaggered back over to the bed and jumped on the edge as he tossed Ian a small bottle of Stoli. Ian caught it and gripped it with a smirk, twisted the cap and took a swig. 

“What’s one thing you can’t live without?” Mickey dared.

Ian looked at Mickey, glanced to his side and looked back at him. “I love spaghetti,” he said with all seriousness.

He looked on as Mickey choked on his Jameson and rolled to his side with laughter. Ian laughed, “For real, you haven’t lived until you’ve tasted South Side spaghetti spawned from the package of expired noodles and ground beef that might kill you, seasoned with just the right amount of herbs stolen from your neighbors yard.”

Mickey’s laughter took Ian by surprise. The corners of his eyes showed a sign of gentle age that was becoming, deepening his attraction for the man he felt hard to reach. Mickey’s sex appeal had him reeling. 

“OK, tough guy, what’s one thing you can’t live without,” Ian questioned as he looked down at Mickey.

Ian watched as Mickey pondered the thought for a hot second before answering, “Pancakes.”

Ian laughed as he lowered himself down next to Mickey, again taking in his smell. 

“Pancakes, huh?” He mused as he nibbled Mickey’s earlobe. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Nah, man. You ain’t lived until you’ve tasted South Side pancakes stirred with expired Bisquick and sour milk.”

Laughter broke out in the suite as the two brought their bodies flush. Ian rolled them and pulled Mickey to settle in a straddle above him. He was blown away at his beauty, his cheeks were flushed after the playful banter. 

“Tell me more about these pancakes,” Ian pressed with a hint of amusement. 

His laughter was cut short as a pair of thick-fleshed lips bit down and invaded his airway. The kiss was heavy, drawing a moan out of Ian. He threaded his fingers through the back of Mickey’s hair, pulling him in closer. Ian felt Mickey’s cock hardening and drew his hands down to pull him in closer as their tongues continued to tease each other in a heated make-out session. 

A ringtone blared from underneath Ian. He continued kissing Mickey, ignoring the object of annoyance as he moved his hands down to Mickey’s thighs, grabbed hold and tossed them so that Mickey was now on his back. He stared down and took in the gorgeous blues as the ringtone buzzed again. 

Mickey reached underneath him to grab the device while keeping Ian’s lips locked in a death-grip. He pulled the phone up and broke away for a split second to glance at the home-screen of Ian’s cell as a hot blonde stared back at the near crack of breaking dawn. 

Just as soon as the ringing stopped, a text came through. 

Chase: Still on for drinks tonight? Lemme know. And I want my clothes back! ;-)

Ian took the phone out of Mickey’s hand and tossed it aside casually without giving much thought to how things might have looked. 

“Now, where were we?” He asked in a husked tone, as he bit Mickey’s earlobe teasingly and slid his hand down slowly, enjoying the toned-features before wrapping it around the hard cock beneath him.

Ian’s phone buzzed again. 

“Might wanna tell your boyfriend you’re tied up,” Mickey whispered in Ian’s ear.

“S’not my boyfriend,” Ian murmured back, tenderly kissing away any jealous thoughts that might be invading the brunette’s head as he slowly made his way down Mickey’s body, trailing kisses before taking him back in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Erikutta... Beta on STEROIDS. xoxo


	8. Just Can't Get Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I'm with you baby, I go out of my head.  
> And I just can't get enough.  
> Everything you do to me and everything you said.  
> And I just can't get enough.  
> I just can't get enough.
> 
> Depeche Mode  
> Album: Speak and Spell  
> Track: Just Can't Get Enough

Mickey stood at the mirror messing with his tie, taking himself in. It was a ‘smart’ look, a trendy, professional attire and he liked the image staring back. He smirked while attempting to smooth over a strand of black hair that refused to cooperate. His pants and jacket were deep blue, tailored to fit, with a light blue shirt and lighter-toned blue tie to complete the monotone look. The various shades of blue made his eyes pop and his coiffed, gelled hair shine like the darkest night. 

It was Monday morning and Mickey’s meeting with Corbijn, Inc. was in an hour, plenty of time for him to chill with a cup of coffee and go through his work one last time. He’d taken his time to prep over the previous week, researched the firm, their clients and the branding work that had made them a premier player in their space. He was interested in learning more about their goals and how this role played a part for him, and his future. 

Mickey scrolled through his work while jotting down questions in his padfolio he knew he wanted to ask. He went to grab his coffee mug as an incoming text came through. 

Ian: Good luck today! Call me when you wrap up and let me know things go. 

Mickey: Thanks man, yeah I’ll ping you.

Mickey had spent Sunday laid up in bed with Ian, bent over the bathroom counter, face-planted against the balcony glass doors and pinned against various walls around his suite. He was sore and the place smelled like a brothel, but he wasn’t complaining in the slightest. It had been a good time, the best time. Mickey smiled at the memories, turning his attention back to his laptop and the mug of cooling caffeine. 

His phone beeped again.

Ian: Had a great time with you ;))

Mickey: def good times, Firecrotch!

Mickey smiled. He couldn’t help himself. It had easily been one of the hottest 24-hours of his life, up until the moment Ian had to depart. Mickey never questioned who Chase was and he didn’t expect an explanation. He was lying to himself if there was a part of him that wasn’t curious, but the two hadn’t brought up the topic after the late night interruption. 

Between the early morning hours of Sunday until Ian said his ‘goodbyes’, they’d discussed Mickey’s meetings with Martin. Ian spoke casually and was informative, offering details of Martin’s personality, the firm’s goals, and laid out the structure of what he could expect come Monday. Details of the meeting had been sent to Mickey via email by Martin’s assistant, Laura. He was ready. 

 

Mickey took in the offices of Corbijn, Inc. and couldn’t help but admire the work and various awards that lined the walls of the firm. He’d been cheerfully greeted by the receptionist and left to his own devices while she went to retrieve Martin. His eyes scanned some of the most brilliant branding work he’d ever seen. Mickey took it all in, reveling over the fact that he was here, doing this, after he’d invested so much time working with Bobby and Shea. His thoughts went back to Ian. Mickey had never spoken to a recruiter who understood the mirroring factors between a creative’s work and how that translates to a company’s needs. The odds that had played out up until this moment had him believing that maybe there was such a thing as fate. It made Ian that much more attractive, and the line in the middle that much more confusing.

“Mikhailo! Thank you for your patience,” came the booming voice behind him. 

Mickey turned to greet the outstretched hand of Martin Corbijn. He was struck by the kind, casual demeanor of the man standing before him. Mickey had expected Martin to be decked out in a three-piece suit, but instead found the sixty-something year-old wearing a Polo flannel button-down, dark denim and leather Adidas. He owned the look and Mickey instantly felt at ease. You can only make a first impression once, and he was impressive.

“Please, call me Mickey. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Corbijn,” Mickey smiled as he shook Martin’s hand. 

“Call me Martin and we have a deal,” Martin returned with a warm smile.

Mickey nodded and turned back slightly, waving his hand in a gesture to the wall. “This is some of the most brilliant work I’ve seen,” he said with admiration. 

Martin smiled and patted Mickey on the back. “Well, that’s exactly why I’m excited you’re here. Great minds.” He chuckled as he pointed to his temple, scanning the walls with Mickey. “Shall we?” he asked. He led Mickey down the hall to the conference room to discuss, quite possibly, the ‘actual’ opportunity of a lifetime, and his future. 

************

Ian sat in front of his laptop Monday morning reviewing the details of a new search request that had come through his email by a repeat client. On a different day, this would’ve been easy money, but he was unable to focus. His mind was elsewhere. The time he’d spent with Mickey was, without question, one of the best times of his life. He knew Mickey was meeting with Martin and his team at that moment and he was jittery with nervous excitement. Today, it was about Mickey, not himself. 

He smiled at the screen with a blank stare as he reminisced over the weekend. The sex was the best he had experienced. The conversations they’d shared had been fun, while at times intense during the spare moments their mouths weren’t connected. Mickey had opened up and talked more freely about his life, including his upbringing, with moments of obvious reluctance and hurt. Listening to Mickey and understanding so much more about him connected the dots to Mandy’s own fierce demeanor. 

He’d left the hotel Sunday evening to meet Chase for drinks, with a smile on his face and sore, chapped lips, honoring the plans they’d previously made to celebrate his long, overdue promotion with his firm. Chase had worked hard for it. As much as Ian had wanted to cancel on his friend and stay wrapped up in the bubble of Mickey’s suite, he didn’t want to let Chase down and he didn’t want to appear needy by lingering.

 

Ian had arrived at the low-key lounge wearing the same clothes borrowed from Chase meant for that afternoon’s business meeting with Mickey. 

His friend caught sight of Ian walking in and shook his head at his disheveled look. “For fuck’s sake bro, seriously!? Guess the second-hand digs actually worked,” Chase laughed as he swatted Ian’s chest with the back of his hand. 

Ian punched Chase on the shoulder and smiled, “Fuck off, it’s not what you think,” he countered, although he knew he probably looked like the classic poster child for the ‘walk of shame’. He’d pulled his clothes on in a rush, not bothering to check a mirror. For all he knew, his fly could still be down. 

“Well, then, care to explain?” Chase quipped with a raised brow as Ian pulled up next to him at the bar.

Ian looked over at his friend and smiled, “I think I’m in love.”

The sound of metal screeching against the wood floor shook Ian as Chase shoved his stool back to stand and lean over the bar, banging his fist against the counter. 

“Hey, Kat! Scratch the pitcher,” he shouted across the bar with a swipe of his hand to his neck. ”Shake us up a couple of vodkas and make them stout!” he ordered, as she acknowledged the request with a wave of her hand.

Ian laughed at his friend’s animated frenzy as two drinks were placed in front of them.

“Cheers to me. And cheers to you. Now talk,” Chase ordered Ian, as they picked up their chilled shots and tossed them back. 

Ian recounted the hours leading up to their happy hour, sparing Chase the finer details. 

Chase patted Ian on the shoulder, “So what happens next? He serious about moving to Chicago if this job works out?”

“I mean, yeah. The position is a relocation. He sounds excited and I’d be shocked if Martin and his team don’t bring him back in for a second round after tomorrow’s meetings. I guess we’ll see.” Ian shrugged his shoulder, glancing down at his drink with a hopeful smile.

The night ended and the two walked together to their cars. Ian gave his friend a final congratulatory hug. “So I guess I’ll catch you at the CSVC Awards tomorrow night? You still planning on going?” he asked.

“Hell yeah. The event’s going to be crawling with Chicago’s finest choice meat,” Chase smirked, and he wasn’t talking about the lobster.

The Chicago Society of Visual Communications awards ceremony was an annual event that included everyone in the industry, from creative professionals, marketing and advertising executives and headhunters like Chase and Ian who went to network. Everyone who was anyone attended. 

Ian laughed at his friend, “Cool. I’ll see you there man. Congrats again on the promotion, well-deserved!” he shouted as he slid into his car and gunned the engine, his thoughts once again turning to Mickey as he tried to convince himself that he wasn’t falling for the hot South Side smack-talker. 

************

It was close to 5:00 late Monday afternoon by the time Mickey wrapped up his meetings with Martin and his team. The day had been a whirlwind. Martin spoke in depth of his firm’s humble start, the obstacles they’d overcome in the early years and the success stories leading up to the present-day, world-renowned firm they were. 

Mickey met with the executive team at Corbijn, Inc. throughout the day and was able to truly absorb the full scope of what was in front of him. They made clear their five-year plan to position Corbijn, Inc. for a multi-billion dollar acquisition, with current bidders already braced at the starting line. The Executive Creative Director would play an integral role in those plans as a notable part of the team involved in closing multi-million dollar contracts for blue-chip accounts, currently being hunted by the firm’s team of business development hounds. 

Martin wanted to set his firm up for future benefits to those who had stuck with him through the years as he sought his subsequent retirement. The branding work Corbijn, Inc. produced, and was known for, was important to him and his team. It encompassed soul-driving effort and groundbreaking, creative foresight that consistently left their clients’ consumers hungry to buy their products, and he didn’t give a fuck about knuckled-tattoos or the brazen words that often slipped from the mouth of Mickey Milkovich. The work Mickey produced and the professional, confident demeanor he carried himself with when it counted was all that was needed to be said.

The compensation and tangible equity shares that were loosely discussed went beyond anything Mickey could’ve ever dreamed of, much less doing what he loved and thriving at what he did best. 

It really was the opportunity of a lifetime. 

‘Fuckin’ Gallagher,’ Mickey mused to himself with an inward smile. When it rained, it poured, and this was a torrential downpour that left Mickey feeling unusually anchored. 

Mickey pushed his chair back to stand and shake the hands of the impressive group as they made their way out of the conference room. The team had asked him to come back for a final interview to present his work in a formal presentation-setting that Thursday. 

Martin walked across the room to a cedar cabinet, gesturing for Mickey to follow. He pulled out a bottle of bourbon and poured two glasses, handing one to Mickey. 

“I recognize this is short notice, but we’d love to extend an invite to the CSVC ceremony this evening. We’re up for some pretty great awards. You could really catch a glimpse of some of the work we’ve put in over the past year," Martin said as he looked at Mickey over the top of his glass.

Mickey took a drink and nodded. He was familiar with the hoity-toity event and although it wasn’t his scene, Martin’s invite wasn’t one he was going to reject. He’d rather be face down in a pillow with a certain redhead at the helm, but he and Ian hadn’t made plans for the evening, and this was an opportunity to get to know Corbijn, Inc. in a different light. 

“Yeah, OK. Appreciate the invite, I’ll be there,” Mickey responded. 

“Good, good. It will also be a nice chance for you to meet some of our clients. The menu is supposed to be fantastic and the bar is open,” Martin noted knowingly as they finished their drinks. 

Mickey stepped outside the building, lit a cigarette, and inhaled the smoke as he walked over to the nearest bench to drop his bag and take a seat. He dug for his phone and unlocked the screen. No messages from Ian. He wasn’t sure whether to feel thankful Ian wasn’t a stage three clinger or disappointed that he wasn’t. The truth aired somewhere in the middle. 

He promised Ian a phone call after his interviews wrapped, so he opened up his contacts and dialed. 

************

Ian had finally found his groove and was in a zone working when his phone rang. He looked down with a smile stretched across his face and breathed in.

“Hey, Mickey,” he answered calmly. His insides were already ablaze with knots at the near sound of Mickey’s voice. 

“Hey man, how’s it going? Just left Corbijn’s office and I’m following up, as instructed.” Mickey responded with light-hearted sarcasm.

Ian laughed. “Do you always do exactly as instructed? Remind me to make a list,” Ian smirked, not holding back the flirtatious tone in his voice. 

“Depends what’s on the list,” Mickey flirted back.

Ian felt his dick twitch as he took a mental note of the long list of things he wanted to do to the sexy brunette. One weekend wasn’t enough time and there weren’t enough hours in a day for all of the things he could conjure. 

He grabbed his notebook and a pen and stepped onto his balcony to kick back on a chair as he bent to light a cigarette. “Mmm, duly noted,” Ian spoke with heat, taking a drag off the smoke and trying his damndest to push aside the debaucherous thoughts attacking his brain. “So, talk to me. How’d the day go? Haven’t received a call from Martin yet.”

“Yeah, not even sure where to start man. All feels too good to be true,” came Mickey’s response with a soft chuckle.

“That’s what I was hoping to hear. Break down the day for me,” Ian said as he grabbed the pen to take notes. 

Mickey walked Ian through his meetings and conversations, recounting the firm’s plans. Ian listened intently and smiled at the excitement he heard in Mickey’s voice. This part of the recruiting stage was just as important for him as it was for his candidates. It’s where he gained a deeper understanding for what his clients’ sought, right from the mouth of his candidates, a tactic he used to narrow the search should the bullet miss on the first round. Not today. Mickey was the Purple Squirrel, the spot-on candidate, and Ian knew his aim had hit the mark. 

Ian tapped out his third cigarette and leaned back in the chair. “Shit, can’t wait to hear what Martin has to say about today. Sounds like both sides are dancing. Really happy to hear it, Mickey. How did Martin leave things? Did he ask you back?”

“Yeah, they want me to come back in on Thursday and give a formal presentation. They left it up to me on what I choose. Already know which campaign I’ll present. Oh, and Martin invited me to the CSVC awards tonight. Said they’re up for several, good opportunity to meet some of their clients,” Mickey responded.

Ian’s heart raced. “No fucking shit!? I’ll be at the event tonight. I hit it every year. What’d you tell Martin?”

“Told him I’d be there,” Mickey stated.

“Cool man, I’ll see you there then. I’ve got a table, definitely not as fancy as the one you’ll be sitting at. Let me give give Martin a call and get his feedback on the day and we can catch up tonight then?” Ian said, hating that he had to play the professional recruiter in the midst of things, when all he wanted to do was pound Mickey until he couldn’t walk straight. 

“Sounds good. See you then, Firecrotch,” Mickey said.

 

Ian arrived at the event wearing a deep forest-green suit with a light heather-grey turtleneck. He only wore the piece on special occasions and tonight he was dressed to impress, knowing damn well it made his eyes pop and his hair stand out like a fiery torch. He tossed his keys to valet and made his way inside. 

He found his table where Chase and a few others were chatting and nursing their cocktails. Chase stood and gave Ian a bro-hug and began making introductions, but his eyes were busy scanning. He knew he should just send Mickey a text and let him know he’d arrived, but he didn’t want to interfere with he and Martin’s extended business meeting, nor make himself appear desperate. 

Ian’s call with Martin had gone well. The feedback mirrored the other on both ends. Martin and his team were excited about Mickey and if things went well on Thursday, they were prepared to start talking numbers. None of this came as a surprise to Ian, it only solidified what he already felt in his gut. 

The room filled up and guests were mingling, taking advantage of the open bar and the hordes of food platters loitering about. Behind the stage was a scrolling video of sponsored names and showcased work of the nominees. The bartenders were sparing no mercy and Ian was already buzzed off of two drinks when Chase bumped his shoulder and handed him a vodka martini.

Ian had caved thirty minutes after his arrival and shot Mickey a text. That was well over an hour ago and he’d still not heard back from him. He’d located Corbijn, Inc.’s table, but had seen no sign of the man. Maybe he'd decided to skip the event. The least he could’ve done was return his message, thought Ian. 

He knew the line between business and pleasure was blurred, and that his feelings for Mickey were slowly pulling him over the edge. He took a hefty drink of the cold liquid, feeling disappointment and rejection take over his senses at the thought that he and Mickey were nothing more than a one-night stand simply brought together by circumstance.

Chase stood close by, chatting in his ear about the people he’d met while working the room, but Ian had suddenly tuned him out. His eyes had landed on raven hair from across the room and he watched as Mickey casually stood leaning against a wall near the bar, submersed in conversation with a tall, lean Ken-doll. God, he looked amazing. The man whispered something in his ear, drawing a laugh out of Mickey. Ian continued watching the two interact, as Chase blindly carried on next to him. He watched as Mickey's tongue lightly grazed his bottom lip in a familiar, flirt-like move as he took a sip of his cocktail. ‘What in the fucking hell!’ Ian fumed. 

He tossed back the last of his martini and slammed it down hard on the table next to them, startling Chase, before dragging him by the arm over to the bar. 

“Dude what the fuck,” Chase whispered in exasperation as he untangled himself from Ian’s grip. “What is wrong?”

Ian ignored his friend’s question and called out for the bartender, making himself heard. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mickey glance up at the sound of his voice, causing a knee-jerk reaction as Ian grabbed Chase by the neck and pulled the confused blonde in for a surly kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is actually a DSVC (Dallas Society of Visual Communications). There isn't a CSVC (Chicago) society that I know of, but don't quote me on that.
> 
> Thank you for reading! xo


	9. Walking in My Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now I'm not looking for absolution.  
> Or forgiveness for the things I do.  
> But before you come to any conclusions...try walking in my shoes.  
> Try walking in my shoes.  
>   
> Depeche Mode  
> Album: Songs of Faith and Devotion  
> Track: Walking in My Shoes

Mickey arrived at the venue early, at the request of Martin. His assistant, Laura, met him at the front entrance and led him to the private party being held for nominees and special invites, closed off from the main floor. Judging by the size and no-expense spared throngs of tables, silver platters and bar stations they’d passed, Mickey had underestimated the significance of the ceremony. 

Laura gestured Mickey over to where Martin was standing, laughing carelessly with a small group of men decked out to the fashion-hilt. Martin smiled as he caught sight of Mickey and waved him over. 

“Ahh, Mickey. So glad you could make it,” he said as he gave Mickey’s shoulder a gentle pat. Martin turned to the men and with a genuine sense of respect stated, “Gentlemen, this is Mickey. He’s a true up and comer. His storyboards are some of the best work I’ve seen. We’re hoping to leverage him for a couple of future freelance pitches,” Martin stated. 

His introduction was coy. Mickey appreciated that Martin held private their venture, with an apparent cognizance of the compromised situation Mickey would find himself in if word got back to Bobby and Shea within the incestuous creative space that Mickey was entertaining new opportunities. Introducing him as a freelancer left no one to question what firm he worked for.

Mickey rubbed his nose and nodded, “Yeah, thanks again for the invite, Martin. Looks like it should be a pretty nice turn-out,” he returned, as he began shaking hands with the men as they introduced themselves. 

A tall blonde stepped forward. “I’m Blaine. It’s nice to meet you, Mickey. Any friend of Martin’s…” he grinned, as he motioned to Martin before shaking Mickey’s hand. “Looks like you could use a drink,” he stated, as he shook his empty glass in the air. 

Mickey followed Blaine to the bar with a smile on his face. Not for the man leading the way, but for the stiff, high-end whiskey he was about to devour. His thoughts were on Ian and he was looking forward to meeting up with him. He had accepted the invitation out of professional courtesy, but his attitude shifted once he learned the sexy recruiter would be at the event. Another hour of rubbing elbows before the party closed down and he could make his way into the main venue. He was counting down the minutes, one second at a time.

 

Mickey sat at Corbijn, Inc.’s table making small talk with the team of executives while gorging on prime rib. He smiled and nodded and did his best to appear fascinated with the conversation around him as he cursed himself internally for choosing the wrong seat facing the stage, with his back facing the main entrance and the sea of tables behind him. 

He shifted in his seat as he inconspicuously did his best to scan the room behind him. His eyes were focused on red hair. ‘How hard was it for fuck sake’, Mickey sighed to himself. Ian stood out like a torch, but he’d yet to see any sign of him. His irritation was compounded by the fact that he hadn’t fully charged his phone prior to the event, and had wasted his juice scrolling through his online portfolio for the men at the party and it was now dead. 

The waiter came around and took their plates, filling up their water glasses as the conversation around him continued. 

“Hey, Mickey!” He heard someone shout from the next table over. Mickey looked up and saw Blaine smiling as he motioned him over with his hand. A pretty brunette seated next to him glanced in Mickey’s direction with an equally-warm smile. 

Blaine was a Video Editor and Mickey had learned he was behind the several masterpiece commercials that were up for nominations with his firm. They’d spent a great deal of time talking about various pieces of their work and the game-changing moments that had led them both to the current place in their careers. Mickey enjoyed getting to know him, and was impressed by the work he produced after watching cuts from YouTube on Blaine’s phone. 

Mickey excused himself from Martin and the Corbijn team as he stood to make his way over to Blaine’s table, taking the opportunity to at last casually scan the sea of people mingling throughout the event. The ceremony was set to kick off at any time, leaving Mickey feeling anxious at the possibility of not having the chance to connect with Ian. In the short amount of time he’d gotten to know the recruiter through their many conversations and heated, mind-blowing sex, Mickey found himself actually wanting to explore more with him. It left him feeling uneasy, coupled with excitement at the same time. 

Ian was easily the sexiest man Mickey had ever met. His smile lit up his face, and his adorable sense of humor and open-book demeanor made him that much more intriguing. And Jesus, that cock. Mickey shook away the thoughts invading his brain as Blaine stood to greet him. 

“Hey man, I wanted to introduce you to my wife, Sherry. We actually met at our firm four years ago. She got tied up at the office and couldn’t make the party earlier,” Blaine said with admiration, as his wife stood to shake Mickey’s hand. 

“It’s great to meet you, Mickey. Blaine was jabbering on about some of the work you showed him. He mentioned you freelanced?” she asked with a smile.

“Um, yeah that’s right. It’s nice to meet you too. Blaine’s work is, well...pretty impressive. I guess that’s a given with the awards you’re nominated for,” Mickey replied.

Blaine put his arm around Amy’s waist and mused, “Yeah well, it takes a team, right? Amy is an Art Director, without her storyboards we wouldn’t be here tonight. I’m just the nerd behind the computer bringing the animation to life and making shit move,” he laughed as Amy rolled her eyes and elbowed his side.

“Looks like the presentation’s gonna start soon. Shall we take advantage one more time before the lights go out? Babe...martini?” Blaine asked his wife with a smile.

She shook her head, “Thanks, but I’m good. Still nursing the one I’ve got. They’re making them strong tonight. Mickey, pleasure to know you,” she waved as the two men made their way over to the nearest bar.

They ordered doubles to see them through the ceremony, finding a spot nearby to finish the conversation they’d started while waiting in line. Blaine was in the middle of explaining how he’d met his wife, his stories causing both men to laugh at the length of shenanigans he and Amy had gone through to try and hide their early relationship from their colleagues. 

Blaine took a sip and mused, “You should’ve seen some of the dresses she wore. I swear she did that shit on purpose man,” he laughed and whispered in Mickey’s ear, “drove me CRAZY.”

Mickey laughed and shook his head with amusement. He was about to respond when he heard a loud, familiar voice boom close-by. He looked up and saw Ian standing at the bar, causing a flurried thrill inside at the sight of him. The moment was short-lived as he watched with wide eyes and a gaping jaw as Ian pulled the hot blonde standing next to him in for a heated kiss. 

************

Ian felt a hand gently push him back as Chase put distance between them, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand with a shocked look on his face. The moment brought Ian back to his senses as the desperation of his move morphed into the reality of what had just taken place. He turned to where Mickey had been standing, only to find empty space. 

“Chase, I-” Ian began to try and explain, but was cut short as a hand gripped his shoulder. 

“Excuse the interruption boys, but you’re blocking the bar,” Mickey's voice sounded, laced with sarcasm as he pushed his way between the two men and bellied-up, avoiding Ian’s eyes. Ian stood slack-jawed while Chase threw him a silent glare, not wanting to cause a scene. Ian focused on the tight clench of Mickey’s jaw as he faced the other direction, waiting for the bartender.

Chase spread his arms wide, inviting Mickey to join the one-sided party. “Bar’s all yours, bro,” he stated, clueless as to who the raven-haired man was as he gave Ian a final look of confusion and walked away.

“Guess your boyfriend’s not into public displays of affection,” Mickey smirked with a raised brow, still avoiding Ian’s face while ordering his drink and tossing back the last of his whiskey that was still left in the glass he was holding. 

The anger that had earlier consumed Ian slowly melted away as he took in the weary expression on Mickey’s face, leaving him tongue-tied and unable to form a sentence. He knew Chase well-enough to know that his friend was pissed off and he had his fair share of explaining to do, but was more concerned with what Mickey had just witnessed and how he was going to explain his actions. Ian suddenly realized that Mickey sharing a drink with a likely stranger fell short in comparison. 

Mickey nodded his thanks to the bartender and casually tossed a couple of bills down on the counter before finally turning his attention toward Ian. Ian watched as Mickey took a sip of his drink, his blue eyes searing right through him as he nonchalantly stood and waited for him to speak. 

“Mickey, you look...amazing,” Ian said with a small shake of his head as he looked down and back up again. He knew it was a weak ‘hello’, but it was the only thing he could think to say in the moment. Aside from the frenzy of unspoken words running through his mind and the internal meltdown he was having, Ian was taken aback by how stunning the brunette looked. Their ‘relationship’, as it was, was a mass of confusion as to what they were doing and how much it mattered to Mickey. Ian questioned how far he should go to try and explain without eluding to how much he really cared, or to just let it go and come across looking like a complete asshole. 

Mickey took a step back and gave Ian a thorough scanning. “Don’t look so bad yourself, red,” he complimented before stepping back toward him and whispering in his ear, “Not a boyfriend, huh? Either way, seems to be workin' for ya.” 

Ian felt the heat in his words. “Mickey, it’s not what you think-” Ian tried to explain, but was cut short as the lights dimmed, signaling the start of the show. Mickey made a move to leave, but stopped short and turned back around, thumbing his brow. 

“Nah man, nothin’ to explain. I came to Chicago for a career opportunity. Turns out, it’s a pretty fuckin’ good one. You just might actually get that commission payout. As a bonus, I got laid,” he said as he smiled and lifted his glass in the air with a nod, a silent ‘thank you', while Ian stood in stunned silence as he watched Mickey saunter back over to his table. 

***********

Mickey watched his Uber roll away and turned toward the main entrance of his hotel to make his way inside. He was exhausted. The evening had been bittersweet. After his encounter with Ian, he’d been unable to focus as Corbijn, Inc. was sent to the podium time and again to accept some of the most prestigious awards in the industry. He understood the significance of what it meant for them, and what it meant for his career should he continue down this path. 

He slouched against the mirrored-wall of the elevator as it took him to his floor. The image of Ian kissing him in the exact spot he stood in didn’t help his mood, as the memories raced through him. His phone was still dead, and he hated to admit that he cared more about charging it to see if there were any messages from the redhead than he did about not being with a charged phone at all. 

The elevator door opened and Mickey stepped into the hallway, walking while fumbling to find his hotel key. He stopped short, gaping at a slumped figure leaning against the wall, his head resting on arms over bent knees. Mickey watched momentarily as his shoulders shifted with his breathing. His hair was a mess and the jacket he’d worn was tossed carelessly to the side. In spite of himself, Mickey couldn’t help but admire how good Ian wore the look of dishevelment. 

Mickey approached him and bent down to give him a light tap on the cheek. “Ey, Ian,” he mumbled softly, startling the recruiter, causing his body to jerk alive. Ian lifted his face to meet Mickey’s as he scrambled to stand, grabbing his jacket and phone from the floor. 

“Mickey,” was all that came out of his mouth as Ian ran his fingers through his hair, causing more damage to his unstyled locks. “I...I know what you’re thinking. I mean, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I know how things looked. It’s not what you think. I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I...if you could just hear me out,” he pleaded. 

The look on Ian’s face left Mickey weak and for that, he cursed. Ian looked so damn earnest, and so goddamn beautiful. Mickey took in the tired look in his eyes and questioned internally how long he had been waiting for him. After he’d left Ian standing alone at the bar, he hadn’t looked back. He’d gotten through the rest of the evening with two more double-rounds, eager to catch a cab and call it a night.

Ian continued his rambling.

“I didn’t hear from you and...I guess...I mean, you don’t owe me a personal call, and I know I’m your recruiter, but...fuck! I’ve never been in this situation before. Look, the guy at the bar is my best friend. He probably hates me now too!” Ian fumed, spinning around with animated exasperation. 

“Ian, look man-” Mickey began as two hands were placed on his face, cutting him off.

“I like you. A lot,” Ian expressed softly. 

Mickey shifted his eyes and ran his thumb over his bottom lip. “My phone was dead, otherwise I would’ve text you,” he shot back in a whispered tone, half ignoring Ian’s proclamation.

He glanced back up and caught the honest look in Ian’s eyes and attempted to look away, shifting on the heels of his feet, but Ian held his face firm with both hands. 

“I really, really like you,“ he stated again, eyeing Mickey with heartfelt sincerity.

Mickey wasn’t sure what to make of the evening or the scene that had played out, but the look on Ian’s face and the tone in his voice didn’t leave more to question. His eyes held steady on the gorgeous greens before shifting down to his lips and back up again in a silent stand-off. Ian took the signal and grabbed the back of Mickey’s head to pull him in for a hungry kiss. 

 

Like deja vu, Mickey fumbled to open the door to the suite, breaking away with a heated promise, “Let’s save the talk for later,” as he opened the door and pulled Ian inside with their lips still attached.

Ian took control immediately, slamming Mickey against the wall as he groped his thigh and bit his neck, kissing him with an intensity that left Mickey moaning. Mickey was in sensory overload and didn’t care in that moment about anything but being with Ian. He pushed Ian off him, keeping his eyes locked on the confused greens that questioned his move as he fumbled to unbutton his shirt while kicking off his shoes, moving in swift motion to move Ian back, shoving him down on the mattress.

Mickey attacked Ian’s lips while using his free hand to undo the button of his slacks. Ian’s hands grabbed the back of Mickey’s head, keeping the kiss steady as he lifted his hips, allowing Mickey to pull his pants off before tossing them across the room. 

“Want you,” Mickey murmured in Ian’s ear as he rolled his hips, grinding into Ian. 

Ian let out a deep moan and flipped them, taking control again while whispering, “I want you too. So fucking much, Mickey.”

Mickey had never wanted anyone as much as he wanted Ian in that moment and for the first time in his life, he let himself believe that luck was on his side.


	10. Rush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My soul is bared  
> Gave more for you  
> Dropped my crutches  
> And crawled on the floor for you.  
> When I come up...when I rush.  
> I rush for you.
> 
> Depeche Mode  
> Album: Songs of Faith and Devotion  
> Track: Rush

Ian gently untangled his limbs from the brunette and glanced at the time. It was 6:00 am, but they’d only slept for two hours. He looked over and smiled as he watched Mickey’s shoulders move as he slept soundly. He was beautiful. Ian knew he had fucked up and hoped that discussions would ensue, because it meant Mickey cared enough to feel the conversation was necessary at all. 

He had left the event as the awards began, not in the mood to right the wrong with Chase or with Mickey, grabbed his key from valet and drove nowhere, circling the blocks, lost in his thoughts. He knew he’d acted like a jealous idiot and seethed over his irrational reaction, as he fumbled with his phone to play his favorite Spotify playlist. 

‘Walls' by Kings of Leon blared through Ian’s speakers as he drove around the city. He listened to the lyrics and quietly jammed to the irony of it all. He mused over the fact that he’d only known Mickey for one month, but it was enough to know that one month wasn’t enough. It wasn’t something he had prepared himself for when he called Mikhailo Milkovich about a job opportunity. Mickey wasn’t a random one-night stand and Ian wasn’t sure if he’d fallen, or if he was scared that Mickey hadn’t. He’d made an ass out of himself and that much was clear. 

Ian's thoughts infiltrated his mind as he drove around the city. He felt in his heart that Mickey had tread the same waters, both coming from a shitty childhood, from the same part of the same city. He was South Side, gorgeous and snarky. Creative, strong and a gold-star bottom and every time Ian was with him or spoke to him, time passed too quickly. His job was to find the perfect candidate for Martin Corbijn and in the process, he’d found the best one for him. In that moment, he understood and wanted any or all invisible walls to come down. He'd fisted the wheel and steered towards Mickey’s hotel. 

He’d thrown off his jacket and kept his phone by his side as he hunkered down on the floor and waited for over two hours, his mind racing before nodding off. The touch of Mickey’s hand on his face and the sound of his voice had woken him. 

The moment Mickey allowed Ian to kiss him after his declaration washed away his worries of whether Mickey felt anything at all, but didn’t alleviate the pounding in his heart as to what everything meant to him, or where they stood. 

Ian grabbed the bottle of water from the nightstand and took a drink as he continued to watch Mickey, shamelessly removing the sheet that covered his naked body as he admired the work of art laying next to him in the early morning light. 

“The fuck, Ian?” Mickey pouted in a sleep-state as he pulled the sheet back over his body. 

Ian placed the bottle of water back on the nightstand and nestled down close to Mickey, taking in his scent as he fused their bodies. 

“I like how you smell,” he murmured as he buried his head in the crook of Mickey’s neck. Mickey let out a soft chuckle and Ian felt Mickey’s body relax again, as he took in the familiar motion of their bodies connecting as his lover’s breathing softened and he fell back asleep. 

Ian sighed, breathing in the earlier memory of holding Mickey down as he entered him slowly. The way Mickey tried to take control as Ian overpowered him, holding his arms above his head with one hand, while the other pulled Mickey’s leg around his waist as he thrust slowly, before picking up speed. The way Mickey’s hands felt on his hips, pushing him harder and deeper once he’d released them, and the way Mickey’s body shook as he came, moaning Ian’s name as Ian stilled and did the same. 

He covered their bodies with the top-cover blanket and smiled as sleep took over for the second time. 

 

Mickey turned over and nestled his face in the crook of Ian’s neck in the mid-morning hours, pulling a hidden smile from the redhead as he wrapped his arms around Mickey’s waist and draped a leg over his body. 

Ian was half-asleep, but the draw of Mickey’s naked body instantly made his dick hard. He lowered his arm and softly grabbed a handful of Mickey’s ass while slowly grinding as they pretended to sleep.

“Again?” Mickey questioned with a sleepy smile.

Ian flipped Mickey on his back and lowered down, kissing his neck while still half-asleep himself.

“What, you got a problem with that?” Ian murmured. 

Mickey let out a soft laugh. “No, I mean, not at all,” cutting himself short as he tossed Ian on his back and straddled him in swift motion. Ian opened his eyes, now fully-awake, lost in the blues staring back down at him. He couldn’t believe the turn of events after the disastrous evening that had taken place prior to the moments they’d shared after.

“You’re gorgeous,” Ian stated, once again unable to form a more comprehensive sentence.

Mickey held his gaze, while lowering his body so that their faces were inches apart. 

“What are you thinking right now?” Ian questioned softly.

He felt Mickey’s hand slide down and grab his dick, never releasing their gaze as he began slowly stroking Ian from behind, pulling a pleasured moan out of the redhead. Mickey didn’t break eye contact as he lifted up and grabbed a condom from the side table while tearing it open with his mouth and rolling it tightly around Ian before lowering himself slowly, taking all that Ian had to offer. Their eyes stayed connected as Mickey found his rhythm and Ian’s hands groped the meaty flesh as their bodies picked up speed. Ian thrust up, meeting Mickey’s tempo, before pulling him down to give friction to Mickey’s leaking cock while their eyes stayed connected. When they came, Mickey finally broke eye contact as he collapsed and found the crook of Ian’s neck as they fought to catch their breath. 

“Jesus,” Ian breathed.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Mickey whispered, drawing another smile out of the redhead. 

************

Mickey made his way to the bathroom to clean up and threw on a pair of jeans. The reflection staring back at him in the mirror was a mix of messy bed-head, coupled with bruises beginning to form on his pale skin. He splashed water on his face and stared at himself in the mirror, slightly shaking his head at the unforeseen turn of events his business trip had taken. 

His thoughts went back to the first time he saw Ian’s face on LinkedIn, to their first conversation, to the ones that followed, and to the first time he’d laid eyes on him. What in the fuck were the odds, he murmured to himself as he ran his hand through his hair. The recruiter he had run through the ringer who’d shown no weakness. A sexy Southsider who had lead the way in an honest, gloves-off demeanor. 

Mickey knew in his gut that he trusted Ian. He believed his stunt from the previous night, as ridiculous as it was, was a sounding call. The way Ian had looked at him with confidence and remorse in front of his doorway had all but tossed him into unchartered territory from what he was used to...a place he’d never even been. 

He made his way back into the bedroom and handed Ian a damp cloth before grabbing a smoke and opening the balcony door. As he lit the tip, he watched from his peripheral as Ian wiped his torso and stood to find his garments tossed across the floor from their frenzied evening. His red locks were a mirrored-mess of his own. 

Mickey took a drag and glanced over the balcony at the city. “So, uh, Chase…,” he questioned, with no ill-will as smoke bellowed from his nostrils. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Ian stop the search for his scattered clothes. 

Mickey thumbed his bottom lip, unsure if he was seeking any more than what he already knew. 

Ian pulled on a pair of briefs and sat on the edge of the bed. 

“We used to hook up,” Ian said. “We met in Boystown, had a fling. He's a recruiter as well, helped me get into this industry. We haven’t messed around in years, he’s like a brother to me,” Ian stated. 

Mickey looked back over to Ian and found his recognizable, honest green-eyes staring straight back at him. He was used to not giving a fuck, but Ian’s words resounded in his head, while he tried to make sense of it all, or why he should care at all. The latter scared him, but at the same time brought a sense of peace and understanding. He knew he was falling. Any other guy would have been cause to cut ties, but Ian Gallagher was a combination of confidence and trust. Two characteristics Mickey wasn’t used to in a man. It reminded him of himself, when he gave full thought to it.

“He knows about us...this?” Mickey questioned, with a wave of his hand and slight hesitation as he balanced what answer he was seeking.

Ian looked up and let out a soft laugh. “He knows everything. He knows I’m in deep...knows I’m falling for a candidate. He knows it’s intense,” Ian explained. 

Mickey looked back to Ian, “So, you kissed your best friend, ex fuck-buddy to make me jealous?”

Ian looked away and nodded, “That about sums it up,” he said with a cringe on his face.

He stood up and walked toward Mickey. “I meant what I said last night. I-I know it sounds crazy, but I haven’t felt this way before. I don’t want to freak you out…”

Mickey cashed his cigarette in an empty beer can on the patio and closed the door behind him. 

“Not freaked out, man,” Mickey said as he walked over and sat back down on the bed as Ian joined him. “Feelings are mutual,” he stated, earning him a deep kiss from Ian. Mickey could see Ian’s smile through their colliding-tongues. 

Mickey pulled away and softly tapped Ian on the cheek before looking away for a brief second.

“What is it?” questioned Ian.

Mickey thumbed his lip and glanced back at Ian. “I’m in California, man. You’re in Chicago. I’m really interested in Corbijn and actually pretty fuckin’ excited about it. Doesn’t mean the job’s mine. We both know I’m not the only candidate they’ve met for the role.”

Ian nodded in understanding. Mickey knew his chances were good, but nothing was close to being finalized. A firm like Corbijn surly would want to meet two or three candidates before making this type of decision. 

“I have two other candidates in front of Martin,” Ian acknowledged. Mickey looked across the room and thumbed his lower lip, before glancing back at Ian with a knowing nod. Mickey knew Ian’s job as a recruiter was to give his client options. The best options. His presentation to the executive team on Thursday would be ‘his’ final interview, but that didn’t guarantee an offer would immediately follow, if at all. 

“No one compares to what you bring to the table, Mickey. They made it to the first-round phone screen, but Corbijn hasn’t shown any more interest in spite of their portfolio and background. Martin wouldn’t have gone this distance or invited you to last night’s event if this wasn’t serious for them. I could waive the finders fee, tell them you’re a freebie,” Ian whispered, as he pushed Mickey back down on the bed. 

Mickey looked up at Ian and laughed. “Ain't the first time I’ve been called a cheap date,” he pushed back, pulling Ian down for a kiss. 

Ian chuckled into the kiss and murmured, “The best things in life are free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took so long - busy summer! I hope you enjoyed it, next one's not far behind.  
> Continued thanks to Erikutta for her beta-ninja skills.


End file.
